


Blood for Blood

by Sherllamalock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Vampire Sherlock, Vamplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherllamalock/pseuds/Sherllamalock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is looking for a new flatmate in his recent return from Afghanistan, but when his friend Mike Stamford introduces him to an interesting man named Sherlock Holmes, John finds himself plunged into a supernatural novel come to life. But is this new life with Sherlock All going to be mystery and horror, or will it blossom into something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apology in advance for this quick chapter, but more chapters should be coming soon! No promises on daily updates.

**_ Prologue _ **

 

Just as the sun was beginning to set in the icy winter sky on a cold Friday night, John Watson found himself walking down the street by his lonesome. He'd gotten away from most of the clubs, bars, and rowdy pubs and was walking down alleyways where there happened to be a couple of people huddled together and muttering quietly to each other, and even the occasional drunk talking to himself...or a wall. He shouldn't have been walking alone, especially since it was so late, he was so tired, and nearly anyone posed a threat.

Yet as John walked on, he began to sense he wasn't alone. He glanced behind him, but all that was there was a can rolling into the middle of the alley, and so he walked on. However the feeling of being followed remained and John was becoming uneasy. _You're a soldier_ , John reminded himself, _you aren't an easy target_. But as he walked on, John could hear footsteps behind him along with the slight shuffle of a coat, and John turned swiftly to face his pursuer.

That was the last thing he remembered before everything went black and John couldn't remember a thing.

 

**_ Chapter One _ **

__

            There were myths, tales, and even books and movies about vampires, depicted as cruel, bloodthirsty creatures or even lonely and lovesick, looking for an escape to mortality. Vampires were creatures of the night, burned in the sunlight and sleeping in coffins until their hour called them to awaken to feed on the innocent, even hypnotizing others to do their bidding. Their teeth and fangs were bright white, their beauty incomparable to any other, their speed and strength unimaginable, and their eyes the most hypnotizing…but all of this, of course, was a myth, and certainly not one John Watson was willing to believe.

            “Bollocks!” he would say when his friend, Mike Stamford, would tell him silly little stories and try to entertain him with devilish tales of Dracula, “Why are you interested in all this anyway? You’ve never been interested in that sort of rubbish before.”

            “It’s a fascinating topic, John,” Mike would argue, “You need to branch out with your interests.”

However, today was different. Mike met him in the park by coincidence and kindly left the vampire business out of their chat. Instead, Mike brought up someone who had been looking for a flatmate just as John was. John had only once brought up his looking for a flatshare with someone before and despite its only being a couple days prior, maybe a week, he was surprised Mike would remember. But today, Mike was full of surprises, for he invited John to accompany him to Bart’s morgue to meet this potential flatmate. John hadn’t set foot in Bart’s in what seemed to be ages yet he would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. He looked forward to finding out how much things have changed as well as finding out who this man Mike was telling him about was, though it was a thought he did not voice to spare himself subtle taunting from Mike.

“He’ll be pleased to meet you,” said Mike as they rode in the back of a cab to St. Bart’s.

“Why?” John asked as he twirled his hand around his cane.

            “He’s been looking for a flatmate for awhile now, and he’s good fun. He’ll be glad to have a friend around.”

            “And I’ll be his friend?”

            “Well flatmates don’t always have to be friends—“

            “Who said I wanted to be his flatmate?”

            Mike sighed and rolled his eyes as he looked to John, “Just give him a chance. He deserves one just as much as you do.”

            John sighed and sank back into the seat. Stamford was right, but what if this man thought lesser of him because of his injuries and the fact that he walked with a cane? What if he just didn’t like John altogether? It didn’t matter in the end, though, did it? John would be back to searching for a flatmate and scraping along to live in his little apartment in London on an army pension if anything went wrong or neither of them wanted to give the other a chance. He had to at least try to see past the surface, right?

            Finally, they arrived at Bart’s, the cabbie was paid, and John followed Mike up to the morgue. The hospital seemed to look the same since John had been in it last, but as he walked on, it had changed more than he expected. It was more advanced and the obvious new staff that were running about minding their own business save the select few that bid Mike a good morning. Only one or two may have recognized John or acknowledged him as they made their way to the morgue, but he paid hardly any mind to them.

            “Are you sure about this?” John asked just as they stopped outside the morgue doors.

            “Yes,” Mike answered, “he’s a…polite fellow. Just come on, John.”

            Before John could argue, Mike opened the door and John stepped through with an acknowledgement as to how different the morgue looked from when he’d last been there as a student. He didn’t exactly care about the things in the room at all (even _if_ some specimens were particularly interesting), it was the tall, pale man with black curls atop his head standing at the end of the table over a Petri dish. John was awestruck. He’d never seen a man that looked quite like that: seemingly without a flaw and absolutely—

            “Ah, Mike,” said the man, his voice deeper than his face suggested, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

            “Needed to stop by for something from my office,” he answered as he took a seat across the room, leaving John to stand by himself at the other end of the table, “This is an old colleague and a friend of mine, John Watson.”

            The man looked up to John and offered him a short, small smile before dropping it and looking him over and finally turning back to his work. John looked at Mike who was wearing a broad knowing smile which, in truth, surprised him. What was he up to?

            “Pleasure,” the man said as he carefully squeezed two drops of something that smelled like alcohol on the Petri dish, and the substance began to sizzle just as the man turned to face John again, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

            John’s face fell immediately and he did a double-take between Mike and the man.

            “Wha—You told him about me?” John accused.

            “Not a word,” Mike vowed.

            “Afghanistan…h-how did you—“

            “You’re looking for a flatmate, too,” the man said,” Just the man to fill the vacancy.”

            John stared at him and couldn’t help a disbelieving smirk that quirked his lips, “Who said anything about flatmates?”

            “I did. This morning when I passed Mike on my way to the morgue, I mentioned I must be a difficult… _man_ to find a flatmate for.”

            Mike glanced between the two with a smirk on his face still. John was confused as to why Mike was looking so pleased with himself and why the man seemed interested in him yet at the same time completely uninterested in the two of them in the room at all. The man was still working on whatever it was he was doing, now sliding a small slide into a microscope, and John felt like he was intruding on something very intimate when he watched him work.  
            “Looking for something?” the man asked suddenly and made eye contact with John.

            “Er…no, not really—“

            “I thought you said you were looking for a flatmate. Living in London on an army pension must be difficult to live by.”

            John stared at him, clenched his jaw, and swallowed hard as he cocked his head to the side, as if daring the man to say more.

            “I’m looking for a flatmate, you’re looking for a flatmate, and Mike has conveniently brought you by for a meet-and-greet. You’re an army doctor, everything about you says that. The way you hold yourself, your limp that is merely psychosomatic which would prove your therapist correct—“

            “Who said I have a therapist?”

            “Limp and army doctor, and you’ve recently returned from a tour in Afghanistan, of course you’ve got a therapist. Trained at Bart’s too, I assume. You’re rather familiar with the setup here though it may be different from a few years ago. You don’t sleep well nights, the bags under your eyes suggest so, and you tend to eat very little which is suggested—“

            “How could you possibly know all this?”

            “I observe.”

             “Observe?”

            The man shifted his eyes towards the heavier man sitting across the room and Mike’s face fell as he let the man look him over for just a second.

            “Mike took a walk in the park earlier this morning and had coffee judging by the stains on the corners of his lips and the slight bit of grass stuck to his shoe. He took a shortcut across the park, possibly to catch up to you since you too have bits of dirt still on your cane that is not from upper London where I assume you live. He had a tart for breakfast judging by the crumbs on the collar of his coat, so he ate in a hurry and I think that’s enough to be going on, don’t you think?”

            John stared at him and Mike was grinning to himself, his cheeks tinted pink and his ears a bit as well. The man grinned and turned suddenly to sweep up his coat and throw it over his shoulders and tie a navy blue scarf around his slender, pale neck before walking by John towards the door.

            “Sorry, I’ve got to dash,” he said, “Molly will be back soon to inspect it for me. I’m needed elsewhere.”

            “Hang on,” John called to stop him, “I don’t know where we’re meeting, I don’t even know your name.”

            Mike and the man shared a tiny smile that would normally go undetected, but John was so worked up with irritation and confusion and fascination that it would’ve surprised him if he missed it.

            “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street. Afternoon, gents.”

            And with that, he left, and John Watson was left standing with an old friend and a tiny smirk on his face.

            He was going to have quite an adventure living with this man, Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I do apologize for the short chapter, but I promise you the story will progress smoothly and quite swimmingly :)

            Later that evening, John walked up to the door of 221b Baker Street where the sound of violin music floated down from the open window upstairs. As he looked up at the window, he tapped his cane on the side of his foot as if he already questioned his decision to come along. But he was in need of a flatmate, even if this unbelievable man was going to the one he would be living with for God knows how long. So John took a deep breath and raised the knocker on the door, letting it fall back twice. The music suddenly stopped and a head of curly black hair poked out the window.

            “Ah! I was wondering when you would arrive,” said Sherlock with a broad smile on his lips, flashing his brilliantly white teeth, “Do come in, won’t you?”

            John waved up at him and reached to open the door, but an elderly woman pulled it open before he could.

            “Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” she said and stepped to the side to let him in, “I’m Mrs. Hudson, your landlady. Sherlock is upstairs so you can go right on up.”

            “Nice to meet you, I’m John Watson,” he said as he stepped inside the door. He offered her a smile before she directed him up the stairs where he could hear someone moving around, moving things into or out of place, and oddly, it sounded like they were moving rather fast. However as his head poked around the corner where he could see into the flat, all he saw was a tall man in a blazer with his hands behind his back as he stood at the window, watching the street below.

            “Is that a skull?” was the first question out of John’s mouth, gesturing to the skull sitting on the mantle.

            “Friend of mine,” Sherlock answered, but he kept his back turned, “Well, I say ‘friend’…”

            John looked around at the clutter scattered about the flat, boxes sitting around wherever it seemed they could fit, a laptop sitting open but black on the desk, and a multitude of other things sitting around that he didn’t dare investigate. There was a red chair and a black leather chair sitting at the fireplace, multiple books stacked in a large box in the leather chair, and John continued on into the kitchen where the table was cluttered with what looked to be a lot of scientific equipment.

            “I take it the previous occupants haven’t moved out entirely yet?” John called as he turned back to the sitting room. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and spun on his heel to begin straightening things up. But why? They weren’t his things…were they?

            “Is this…your stuff?” John asked with a hint of a smirk.

            “Obviously…I can straighten things up a bit, not a problem,” Sherlock answered while he shuffled things around and tried to make the room more presentable, “I figured you’d agree to move in, so I decided to go ahead and...move…in…. _So_ , Dr. John H. Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, I hope this doesn’t deter you from moving in. We’ll split the rent; Mrs. Hudson owes me a favor anyway. But do make yourself at home, John. Mrs. Hudson would be happy to make you a nice cuppa.”

            “What was that?” Mrs. Hudson called from the stairs as she was making her way up to the two men, “Oh, of course, dear, but just this once. I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper.”

            John smiled as a “thank you” to Mrs. Hudson as he took a seat in the red chair by the fireplace. Sherlock was still bustling about attempting to straighten things up, but he’d hardly moved in yet, there was no need for him to be doing anything like that right now. John looked around the room with his eyes, lifting some newspapers off the end table beside him and just sifting through them while they waited. However, the moment Mrs. Hudson opened the fridge and started to complain to Sherlock about something, Sherlock ran over to her and slammed the fridge shut to keep her from saying anything more.

            “Don’t mind that,” he said, though John could barely catch the words, “I have to have it in there, you know that.”

            “But why not in the freezer? It’ll be better that way—“

            “I have to heat it anyway, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll keep it safe from harm and puncturing. You won’t have to explain it to anyone, alright?”

            “Yes but the—“

            Sherlock shushed her immediately and muttered something to her that John couldn’t catch. All he wanted to know was what was in the fridge.

            “Oh, alright,” she sighed and Sherlock promptly returned to the sitting room to start shelving the books that were in the chair opposite John.

            “Is there anything I can do to help?” John asked and sat forward, ready to help if he was needed.

            “Oh no, it’s fine,” Sherlock answered, “I have a specific way I shelve my books.”

            “And I would mess that up?”

            “Yes.”

            Sherlock smiled shortly at John and the doctor sat back in his chair with a shake of his head. This man was definitely one of the few who seemed to intrigue John more than battles and danger, but he had yet to find out that this man was one of the most dangerous men he’d ever encountered. And he wasn’t even human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be posted at a fair time, I am sorry for the tedious nature of this chapter. I did not want to re-write a study in pink and I wanted to post the chapter. These next few chapters should make up for it :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas here is the longest chapter yet written! Please do enjoy while you wait for chapter four! WOO!

            As the days passed, John began to notice a bit of strange behavior from Sherlock. The man wouldn’t go out on sunny days and instead he would lounge around inside and do some sort of experiment in the kitchen, he hardly ate (Mrs. Hudson said that it was normal for him, but John still knew it wasn’t healthy), and some days he nearly looked dead, what with dark bags under his eyes and the dull color of his usually vibrant sea green eyes. Sherlock was always secretive about the things he kept in the fridge and John would hear him get up in the middle of the night for a midnight snack which, quite frankly, happened often. John never got the curiosity bug to get him to go look in the drawer in the fridge that had “SHERLOCK’S. DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU WISH TO DIE OF FRIGHT” written in black marker on it (a poor choice in words to keep one out of a secret drawer, but then again, it _was_ Sherlock). That was until one night, he was lying awake and unable to sleep and he couldn’t help but continuously wonder about Sherlock. His skin was abnormally pale, but given the circumstances that the man hardly saw sunlight he guessed it wasn’t as abnormal as he thought; he stayed up until about five or six in the morning just sitting in his room doing…whatever it was he did; he would always leave in the middle of the night, or at least he would about once a week. All of it just seemed…strange to John. He would consider Sherlock a bit of a night owl, but this was a bit extreme.

            John lay there, staring at the ceiling, and let out a long sigh. Surely he had to be out of his mind to think that there was something truly abnormal about Sherlock. It was something everybody around him seemed to know but kept it secret from him like his bloody life depended on it. Or perhaps it did? What if Sherlock was hiding a horrible dark secret from him, like cannibalism or keeping severed heads in the—well, he’d already done that once, so that wouldn’t be news to John. He tried to brush it off, to ignore the curiosity digging at his brain, but it was no use. He had to know what was in the refrigerator.

            Quietly, John pulled the sheets off his body and crept out of his room. Hopefully Sherlock would be asleep by now and John could be in and out of the kitchen quiet as a mouse and back up in his room to get some sleep. Maybe if he was lucky, the reveal wouldn’t be too dreadful, maybe it was just some severed digits or something of the sort, and he could just go and sleep as he pleased. He peered over the railing at the dark hallway below, the only light being the streetlamp streaming through the window, and listened for Sherlock. He waited and waited, but not a single sound was made, and he quietly climbed down the stairs and slipped into the kitchen, listening for the sound of movement coming from Sherlock’s room.

            Nothing.

            So he proceeded with caution towards the fridge and opened it as quietly as he could. He almost cursed the splash of light on the floor. John let the door open the rest of the way and he could hear nearly everything in the room, even the wind blowing against the side of the house apart from the rain battering the roof; his own breathing sounded like someone was yelling in his ear. As he scanned the shelves of beer, leftovers, and miscellaneous items, his eyes locked on the drawer that was clearly marked as Sherlock’s. He didn’t want to open it, but it was such a big secret and he wanted to know…or did he? John shook his head and delicately reached forward to open the drawer, curling his fingers around the handle and giving it a slight tug.

            “What are you doing?”

            John quite literally nearly shat himself at the ghostly figure of his flatmate with a juice box in his hand now standing right beside the fridge. He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look too happy, either. John dropped his hands to his sides and took two steps back.

            “I-I-I was just…um…y-you know—“

            “Why were you going to open the drawer that is mine?”

            “What? N-no, I wasn’t—“

            “Your hands were on it, your vein is popping out against your skin, and you won’t look me in the eyes.”

            John swallowed hard and dropped his eyes to the floor as he chewed his lip and tried to think up an excuse, but really, Sherlock had given him such a fright he didn’t think he could ever remember what real words were. His lips flapped wordlessly for a moment, still trying to think up an excuse but failing miserably. But before John could make another move, the room was once again cloaked in darkness as a long, slender arm stretched across his face and slammed the fridge door closed. Now he’d done it.

            “Don’t _ever_ open that drawer, John Watson,” Sherlock growled, striking fear into the very depths of John’s soul, “That’s why there’s a label on it. Would I open a drawer that had _your_ name on it?”

            “T-To be fair, yes you would.”

            There was a long, unpleasant and un-amused sipping of the juice box that could be heard in the darkened silence that didn’t dare bring forth a laugh from John. After a long moment of just staring at the space where John had seen Sherlock’s face last, his eyes adjusted and he could see the clear…blankness that was his face. Why didn’t his face match his voice? John had expected him to look absolutely enraged, but there was just nothing to be registered upon his face.

            “This is no time for jokes, John,” Sherlock hissed, speaking at last, but it wasn’t exactly the tone John was keen on hearing, “Listen to me and do not open that drawer, do not even look at it. Go back upstairs and try to get some sleep. We have a case to wrap up tomorrow morning. Early.”

            It didn’t take John too long to actually obey, bid Sherlock goodnight, and sulk back up to his room. He was ashamed, he was embarrassed, and he felt absolutely awful. He let out a long aggravated sigh as he threw himself upon his bed and burrowed deep beneath his sheets without even thinking about getting out of bed again until morning. To him, it would be a miracle if Sherlock would ever even look at him and not think terrible things of him, at least for a little while. John _did_ try to invade his privacy after all.

 

            The following morning, John woke up earlier than he wanted to, but he had Sherlock’s antics to thank for that. Groaning, he climbed out of bed and got dressed before making his way down the stairs to the kitchen to find Sherlock sitting at the table with yet another juice box. Across from him was a plate filled with toast, eggs, and bacon, obviously set for John, and so the doctor took the empty seat and folded his hands between his knees.

            “What’s the matter?” Sherlock asked, taking another sip of the juice, “Mrs. Hudson came up and made you breakfast. You need to eat.”

            “ _I_ need to eat?” he protested with a disbelieving look on his face, “You haven’t eaten nor drank anything but that bloody juice box for a week! You’re going to waste away—“

            “Highly illogical; if I would, I would be a pile of dust by now. Eating slows me down, as I have told you time and time again over the past four weeks.”

            “Seriously? You’re going to sit here and not eat because of a case?”

            “Yes.”

            John almost laughed and opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock quickly cut him off by opening his own mouth to speak.

            “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”

            John stared at him, but eventually sighed and shook his head. “Not really. Why?”

            “I just noticed the bags under your eyes and uneasiness as you came into the room that had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you tried to invade my private drawer in the refrigerator at two in the morning. Or did it?”

            Sherlock’s words were crisp on his tongue as he looked at John and patronizingly sucked on the straw of his juice box, staring at him, and it was making John rather uncomfortable. He looked away for a moment and chewed the inside corner of his mouth before shifting his eyes back to Sherlock whom he found was still staring at him.

            “Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock!” he shouted in frustration, throwing his hands up before letting them fall back on the table, “Yes I had trouble sleeping because of not knowing what was in the drawer. Now if you could do me a favor, please stop staring at me and sipping your bloody juice box, that would be wonderful.”

            “You’ve called it a bloody juice box twice, I take it as an offense—“

            “Sherlock, I don’t think it really _matters_ how many times I ‘offended’ your juice box. Why the hell do you drink those things anyway? I haven’t really seen you eat much in the month that I’ve known you and I know that’s not healthy. I know these things, I’m a doctor.”

            “Oh please.”

            “I _am_ a doctor—“

            “John if you would just listen for five seconds. I _have_ eaten, you just haven’t seen me. Mrs. Hudson can vouch for me and don’t go asking her you’ll interrupt her relaxation time with her herbal soothers.”

            “You haven’t eaten at a single restaurant we’ve been to together, I usually am the one that finishes off whatever is left in the fridge, and the only thing you really eat is tea and biscuits.”

            “I think that’s enough for a proper British diet.”

            “Sherlock now isn’t really the time for jokes. Why don’t I make you some tea so you can stop drinking juice boxes?”

            Sherlock almost looked offended.

            “I am content with my juice box,” he insisted as he rose from his seat to toss his finished juice box into the bin, “but I do believe, John, that we have a case to solve.”

            “Not until I’ve finished my breakfast. And I think you split your lip, you’ve got a little blood on the corner, just there.”

            Sherlock poked at the blood on the corner of his mouth with his tongue before licking his lips and disappearing into his room. John didn’t think anything of it, it was a fairly normal thing to do, and so he finished his breakfast and said hello to Mrs. Hudson as she came up the stairs with two or three grocery bags. They had a case to solve and by the sound of it, Sherlock already had it figured out. Hopefully he would be able to catch on and not slow Sherlock down…as usual.

           

            The two of them ended up getting out of the house at sundown thanks to Lestrade pulling an argument with Sherlock about…whatever it was that Sherlock was yelling about in his bedroom. The cab ride was short, though it wasn’t even in the direction of the crime scene. John had almost forgotten that Sherlock tended to go on his own in finding the suspect and taking him down. As he’d told him in the cab, they were looking for a very nimble man, but a large, muscular man with big hands and feet, but John didn’t see how it would be easy to find this man running through every alleyway in London. It would be a miracle if they did within the hour, or maybe even by midnight; it was already dark and dreary and John didn’t particularly want to be outside which Sherlock ridiculed him about for maybe thirty seconds. As they walked on in the rain, John was subconsciously trying to figure out what was in the drawer in the fridge that Sherlock was so keen on keeping anybody and everybody out of. Sherlock was one of the most secretive men John had ever met and even though he respected his secrets, his natural human curiosity was still trying to get the better of him and make him—

            “Okay, you’ve got questions. Again,” Sherlock said suddenly, snapping John out of his thoughts.

            “Huh?”

            “I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head.”

            “Oh…well I was just…wondering why we were—“

            “You already know the answer to that one. Next.”

            “Why are you so concerned about anyone opening that drawer in the fridge? Mrs. Hudson has a fridge, why don’t you keep it down there?”

            “Some questions are better left unanswered.”

            “Not this one.”

            Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, he snapped it shut again and pulled John to the side behind a dumpster. At the end of the alley, there was a man peering around the corner, a rather large man with big hands and big feet, and he was making absolutely no sound or move whatsoever. Sherlock clamped his hand over John’s mouth and peered around the side of the dumpster, but the moment his head poked out, a shot was fired and the man went running.

            “Do not move from this spot!” Sherlock commanded and took off after the other man.

            “Sherlock!” John called, but it was no use for his friend was already around the corner and gone. _Of course_ , he thought to himself. He couldn’t sit there much longer, especially in the dark when it was likely he could be arrested under suspicion of firing the shot, being mugged, or even being shot himself. Just as he got to his feet, another shot was fired in the distance followed by another and yet another. Oh god.

            John broke into a sprint in the direction he heard the shots fired, praying that he wouldn’t find Sherlock in a groaning (or silent) heap somewhere in a pool of blood. He ran, nearly sliding in a puddle, and a brilliant flash of lightning across the sky illuminated the alleys surrounding him and at last, he caught sight of two men running just a block away, one he knew was Sherlock. He ran as fast as he could towards him. As he neared, another shot was fired and hit Sherlock in the leg, knocking him onto the pavement. John’s heart seemed to stop.

            “Sherlock!” he cried and raced after him. However, before he could reach him, Sherlock was up on his feet again and gone around the corner again. John stopped in his tracks as he stared after Sherlock, his mouth agape. No blood, no shout of pain, no writhing or anything on the street, just…running. The doctor stared after him utterly dumbstruck and he couldn’t figure out what on earth he had just seen. Maybe it was his imagination that Sherlock got shot? Maybe it was just the fear of the night that was making him see things? But…but Sherlock _fell_! He was knocked over by the shot! It was physically impossible to have been shot and then get up and walk away like it never happened! He had to be dreaming, right? John shook his head to dismiss the thoughts and ran after Sherlock once again, hoping to catch him before anything else went wrong.

            Before he could get moving again, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he opened it to find a text from Sherlock.

 

            I’ve called Lestrade. I’m fine. Go back home. See you soon. SH

           

            John stared at the text and angrily typed back:

 

            YOU’RE FINE?! YOU WERE SHOT IN THE LEG! JW

 

            John glared at his phone as he walked on, hailing a cab as soon as he got to the street and snapping at the cabbie when he told him where to go. He did apologize, but after a few minutes when he cooled down. He was still in shock, still disbelieving at how it was possible for a man to be shot _four times_ and not die or at least bleed out. But it didn’t even slow the man down! John was very aware that Sherlock wasn’t some kind of superhuman even if he liked to believe that he was, but this would prove John wrong on more than one occasion. If he asked when he saw Sherlock, surely the man would mock how unobservant John was or make some joke, or maybe even threaten him with some ridiculous death like…he couldn’t even think of anything. All he knew was that he had to ask Sherlock what was going on with him the moment he got home. Sherlock would be in a world of trouble if he wasn’t already.

            Finally, the cab pulled up to 221b and was paid as John was climbing out of the back as he fumbled with his keys, though once he got to the door, he found it to already be unlocked. Grumbling, he walked inside and slammed the door behind him which in turn rocked a portrait on the wall. Mrs. Hudson shrieked in her apartment and opened the door to find John storming up the stairs.

            “John?” she asked as she started to follow him, “Is everything alright?”

            John stopped on the stairs and looked down at Mrs. Hudson. She knew something and he knew she did, and she obviously knew he knew she did, so why not ask her?

            “Why can he get shot and not die?” he snarled, “Why does he drink juice boxes all the time? Why—“

            “John?”

            John looked up to the top of the stairs to see Sherlock with his coat buttoned up and his weight on his opposite leg.

            “Where’ve you been?”

            “Come upstairs. I have to talk to you.”

            “Like hell you do.”

            Sherlock glared down at him and John followed promptly, not wanting to delay the questioning (or rebuking) any further. Once the both of them were in the kitchen, John didn’t give Sherlock any time to explain himself or to even speak before he bombarded him with questions.

            “Why are you not in a hospital?” he demanded, “Why do you look like absolutely nothing happened to you except the mud on your coat, hm? Why—“

            “John, I need you to listen to me and I prefer you sit down, please.”

            “No I’m fine, thanks—“

            “John. Please.”

            John looked to the floor and let out a sigh before he pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat by the door. He couldn’t see any bullet holes in Sherlock, not even exit wounds out the back of his coat, and there was absolutely no blood. But what was even more unnerving was how pale the light made Sherlock look and how dark his eyes were, it almost seemed unnatural.

            “Thank you for coming along on the case, by the way,” Sherlock said as he took a seat at the end of the table, “I was, uh…glad for your help.”

            “I didn’t even do anything,” John said, crossing his arms.

            “You helped capture him.”

            “How?”

            “When he heard you yell my name, he slowed down and he did try to…to kill me, but he ran straight into the police. So…thank you for that.”

            John didn’t say a word.

            Sherlock cleared his throat and turned to pick up a juice box he’d set on the table, handing it to John who turned it over in his hands in confusion, and said, “What do you see?”

            “A…a juice box…?”

            “Yes, but what’s in the juice box?”

            “Juice…?”

            Sherlock took a deep breath and took the box back from John.

            “Not quite.”

            “What is it, then?”

            This building up wasn’t exactly doing it for John, but he would rather wait than burst and yell at Sherlock to get him to tell. He didn’t even understand why he was so worked up—oh right because he wasn’t sitting in the hospital with Sherlock where he should be.

            “Mike Stamford’s recent subject of interest…he’s walking a fine line. I told him, more like he caught me, about a month or two prior to his meeting you and he’s hinted greatly at it. I feared telling you because very, very few people know about my…my condition and I was afraid to drive you away. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, my brother, Stamford, and now you are the only people who know.”

            “Know what?”

            Sherlock took yet another deep breath and dropped his eyes for a long moment before finally looking at John again.

            “I’m a vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four should be up within a few days...hopefully. WEE!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** There is a teensy, teensy bit of gore but not much. Just medical things and not very descriptive. Do enjoy and I hope the next chapter will be up within the next couple of weeks (maybe sooner! WOO!) :)

            John stared at Sherlock as if he’d just been told the biggest and cruelest joke that man could’ve come up with. That couldn’t be true; vampires were just a creature of fiction, weren’t they? John laughed nervously as the idea began to plant itself in his mind. Sherlock hadn’t lied to him before about anything other than this…but this was something he really should’ve kept in the dark.

            “No you’re not,” he said, his voice shaky.

            “Yes I am,” Sherlock mumbled, “I have fangs, I drink blood, I can eat human food, but I do not kill people…anymore…”

            “ _Anymore_?”

            Any normal man would’ve jumped out of his seat and started his run for the hills, but John was not a normal man, and therefore he stayed put and stared at Sherlock in disbelief. He craved danger and living with a…a _vampire_ who had actually killed people before was about as dangerous as it could get.

            “I wanted to stop because my killings were leading back to my…my…so I asked Molly if she could keep a special cache of blood for me and she has been. That’s what’s in the drawer. These juice boxes also have blood in them. It’s silly but it’s the only way I can drink blood without being conspicuous or people wondering what else is wrong with me.”

            John stared at him, unsure of what to say, and right now, he wished he did. Sherlock looked at him like he was a child who had just confessed flushing his mother’s jewelry down the loo. He had just told John his biggest secret after only knowing the man for a month and he wasn’t saying a word.

            The silence in the room was deafening, only interrupted by the rain beating the roof and the thunder in the distance. There was still so much Sherlock had to tell John and there were still so many questions John had to ask Sherlock, but this was just the beginning of all their troubles. John had no idea how much danger he’d put himself in just by knowing and even more by living with him.

            “If I may ask,” Sherlock said quietly, “I need your help getting the bullets out. You can’t hurt me and I can’t hurt you. Nothing will come out except the bullet and it will heal. Please, John.”

            “I…um…s-sure,” he answered, his voice shaking, “Just, uh…let me get my medical…thing…”

            “What’s wrong? Your voice is shaking and you look pale. Would you like something to drink or lie down?”

            “What’s wr—Sherlock, you just told me that you’re a _vampire_ and that you drink blood and that you’ve _killed people_! What else could possibly be wrong?!”

            “Maybe that I’m not dead… _again_ , from being shot…?”

            “Seriously?”

            “Sorry…”

            John let out a heavy sigh and carefully slid off his seat and walked over to Sherlock, looking him over and wondering what sort of horror film he wandered into. Just looking at him brought all the pieces together: not wanting to go out in the sunlight, secret drawers in the fridge, hardly eating, pale skin, and how dark his eyes were.

            “Can…can I ask you something?” John said hesitantly.

            “If you think you can bear the answer,” he answered.

            “When was the last time you fed on a human being?”

            Sherlock hesitated, “About 1903.”

            “ _1903_?!”

            “Yes, John.”

            “You…you’re over a hundred years old!”

            “Obviously. Don’t be so transparent.”

“Sher—“

“I was born in 1854, turned in 1889 just after my 35th birthday. So I’m dead but I’m also _not_ dead…sort of.”

            John pursed his lips in disbelief, the overwhelming flux of information making him feel as if his mind would explode at any second, and he knotted his hands in his hair as he turned from Sherlock, still not understanding how any of this science fiction could be _real!_ He had to get his head together and keep his mind focused before anything else would have the chance to go haywire today. He was going to have to live with this, yet he didn’t realize that he truly _would_ have to live with it. He had absolutely nowhere to go, but he had absolutely no intention of leaving, either.

            “Bullets,” he repeated as he let his doctoral instincts take over to hopefully give his mind some time to wrap around this whole situation, “Bullets. We have to get them out and your wounds closed before infection sets in.”

            Sherlock nodded, not daring to argue despite his urge to correct John on the fact that vampires don’t get infected by mundane diseases, and he turned towards the bathroom and marched in the direction John was practically pushing him. He knew he was in trouble and he knew that John would eventually start yelling at him all over again when it finally _truly_ struck him that he was living with a monster, but for now, John just had to learn to trust Sherlock. Just because he now knew that he was what he was didn’t mean Sherlock was going to treat him any different; he was just going to be a little more open about things such as his blood-drinking habits as much.

            “Counter,” John commanded when they got in the bathroom, “Coat off and shirt open, please.”

            Again Sherlock followed orders and ignored John’s wince of empathetic pain when the detective’s coat was shed and his shirt opened to reveal three bullet holes that were not at all bleeding. One was just off center in his abdomen, another through his ribs, and the last one almost piercing his heart. He knew they looked bad and he knew how his skin looked like broken rock around the wounds beneath his shirt, but he wasn’t going to utter a word and he was not going to make a move until John finished.

            John quickly shook himself out of his daze and went straight back to getting into his medical bag for the forceps and bandages. He quickly got to work with a flashlight in his mouth to see the bullets still lodged in Sherlock’s body and was genuinely surprised that his friend wasn’t dead…again. With careful precision and steady hands, John got to work at pulling the bullets out.

            “This won’t hurt you, will it?” he asked, “I won’t cause any bleeding?”

            “It shouldn’t,” Sherlock answered, “If it does, it’ll be minimal. Not enough to kill me.”

            “Again?”

            Sherlock looked down at John and sighed, “Again, yes…”

            John noticed the look on Sherlock’s face and immediately apologized as he resumed his work. The bullets were lodged deep in Sherlock’s skin and at times, the vampire would wince and suck in a sharp breath of pain when John would hit a raw spot in the wound, but eventually, John got them out. There was very little blood and the bullets had partially broken inside Sherlock, but other than that, they were fairly easy to get out and the holes very easy to bandage.

            “There’s one in my leg you’ve forgotten,” Sherlock said quietly and tapped his knee, wincing slightly in pain.

            “Oh…right,” said John, “Where is it?”

            “Just below my kneecap; it shouldn’t be too hard to get out.”

            John nodded and watched Sherlock turn the bullets over in his hand as he knelt in front of him, making the taller man sit on the counter while he tried to dig it out of his leg. He rolled up his pant leg and grimaced at the wound, this one slightly larger than the others since it was at such close range. Surprisingly, this one would’ve been more difficult to get at than the other ones, but he would manage, though not without a wince or gasp of pain from Sherlock. John would continue to apologize every time he would cause his friend further pain, but at last, that bullet was also removed and he was able to bandage it easily.

            “Better?” John asked as he got to his feet and began to sanitize everything and put it away.

            Sherlock hopped off the counter and buttoned his holey shirt, slinging his coat over his arm and testing the bending and folding of his body to make sure he was good to go.

            “Better,” he answered with a tiny smile, “Thank you, John. I don’t know how—“

            “I’ve still got questions.”

            Of course he did. Sherlock swallowed hard and nodded, “Let me change clothes first, please.”

            John nodded, and with that, they exited the bathroom and Sherlock turned immediately to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. As if he wasn’t angry enough, John stood straight as a pin and walked to the sitting room where the streetlamp was shining through the cracks in the curtains, joined by bright flashes of lightning at times and creating an eerie scene. He took a seat in his usual red chair and sat there in the dark silence.

            A vampire. _A vampire_ , of all things. This was just a dream; it all had to be a dream, didn’t it? John had no idea how any of this could be true, he had absolutely no idea how his reality was turning into a science fiction novel, he had no idea how Sherlock was even real. Was he on drugs? Did John get himself into some hallucinogens? No…no that wasn’t it. He felt fine. His pulse was normal and he wasn’t seeing unicorns at the fridge, so there’s that. But a _vampire_? Weren’t they only real in horror novels and films and sappy teen movies? John almost laughed at himself to think that Sherlock would ever sparkle, and very, very glad he didn’t.

            John was startled when Sherlock’s door slammed again and the detective walked out, dragging his feet, and kindly sat across from him in his leather chair. Silence fell between them. It was a deafening silence and John silently begged for it to be lifted, but it seemed it did not wish to be remedied, and neither man seemed to want to make eye contact. There were hundreds of questions running through John’s mind pertaining to Sherlock’s…state of being, and the things involved with it, yet he couldn’t find the right words to really figure out what he wanted to ask.

            “John, please slow your thinking it’s giving me a migraine,” Sherlock said flatly after what seemed to be an eternity.

            The doctor nodded and looked down at his hands in his lap.

            “Please ask your questions. I would rather get this over with sooner than later. Do it quick, like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

            John took a deep breath and didn’t dare raise his eyes to meet Sherlock’s brilliantly bright blue ones.

            “How are you able to stand to be so close to humans?” he questioned, hesitant, “How is it that you’ve resisted killing me or Lestrade or even Molly?”

            “I’ve trained myself very thoroughly for the past century or so to keep myself calm around things that bleed. That’s why I decided to study corpses and become a detective. My senses far exceed that of average humans and therefore the cases would be solved much quicker. Though, if I do need blood, I usually ask Molly to keep a small cache for me, as I’ve told you before. I keep from drinking from humans by choice and practice. More practice than you can fathom.”

            “Right…okay…”

            “Next?”

            “Um…do you burn in the sunlight?”

            Sherlock grinned. “Like a sunburn unless I’m out there longer than necessary. Then my skin turns black and if I remain in the sun, I will burn up and turn into a shriveled up corpse. If treated in time, it will only leave a scar.”

            “Do you have any scars from this?”

            Sherlock thought for a moment, but decided he had none and shook his head.

            “No. Next.”

            “Are you ever tempted to feed on a human?”

            “Rarely. Next.”

            John glared at him but he didn’t make anything of it.

            “Are you fast? Strong?”

            “Yes. Yes. Next.”

            “How strong?”

            “Strong enough to haul myself up and over buildings. Next.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes, John, now please ask me anything else you can think of.”

            “I can’t really think of anything else, to be honest.”

            “I’ll give you a few ideas: no, I do not sleep in a coffin, too tedious. No, I do not hiss at sunlight. No, I do not secretly sleep in the basement and call it my ‘lair’. No, I do not hypnotize people to let me drink their blood or to lead them to their death. I don’t have that power.”

            “Who does?”

            Sherlock stared at him for a long moment, his eyes unnervingly bright, and said, “Not one who deserves it.”

            “Who holds this power, if I may ask?”

            Sherlock’s gaze turned deadly and his eyes bore into John’s.

            “A spider, a spider in the center of his immortal web of monsters and he knows exactly how each one twists, turns, screams, and thinks. He abuses them mentally, emotionally, and sometimes physically. He is…no more questions. I’m going to bed.”

            “Hang on—“

            “Please, John. I’ve never asked you about your scars, don’t ask me about mine.”

            Before John could utter another word, Sherlock was up and out of his chair and back in his bedroom with the door locked. He had answered all of John’s questions, but had arisen more than he ever expected, and not ones he ever wanted to ask or maybe even know the answer to. He wondered what had happened with the man with the power and Sherlock to make him not want to say another word or answer anymore questions.

            As John gathered his thoughts and deemed it best to get to bed, he stopped and stared in the direction of Sherlock’s bedroom. He’d forgotten to ask the most important question he desperately needed the answer to: was he in more danger now than ever before?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mileage thing is from North Gower Street (Speedy's Cafe) so technically it is accurate because I cheated with Google Maps and just rounded it. It's from North Gower Street to the River Thames :)

_Underground London, England, 43 miles (69.2 km) from 221b Baker Street_

 

            The sound of water dripping onto the stone beneath her feet filled the dark night as she walked through the old tunnels en route to the castle of the coven. Unfortunately, it was not a castle as one would expect. Instead, it was a mansion that had been built beneath London in the hopes of using it as a bunker for the needs of any passerby who knew the code in the early 1880s. It served enough purpose for the use of the vampire coven with plenty of refrigeration, darkness, and plenty of privacy from the mundane world around them. Here, they could hide. Here, they were safe from the burning eye of the sun. Here, they were free.

            The woman walked with a sort of pride around her and kept her head held high as she entered through the enormous oak doors into the foyer where two or three groups of vampires were sitting around doing absolutely nothing. She stopped in the center of the room, her shoes’ clicking making a sudden stop as she stood in the marble compass rose, and stared at them as the light above their heads began swaying to move every last shadow cast by its ghostly blue light. The few vampires hardly dared to look her in the eye, let alone look at her face, but they did and they knew they had done something wrong.

            “Billy, how are you?” the woman asked.

            A young vampire with blond hair nodded once and stood, walking over to her, trying to not look weak compared to her.

            “I’m well,” he answered as he stopped at the end of one of the sofas.

            “That’s good. Then why aren’t you doing your work?”

            Billy looked back at the others before he turned back to the woman.

            “We’ve finished,” he said quietly, “The dogs have begun to take care of the, uh…fresh meat.”

            “And why aren’t you supervising them?”

            “We have not been asked to.”

            The woman smirked and her eyes changed, a sinister light taking them over, and she cocked her head to the side. Billy couldn’t move.

            “I don’t recall any of you having to be given orders of such responsibility before,” she said, her voice firm, “You usually just…do them with the hopes that _he_ will reward you or that I will punish you. Isn’t that true, Billy?”

            Billy couldn’t say a word, he could only watch as she raised her hand and slapped him across the face, leaving a broken trail on his cheek.

            “Go. All of you. Or I shall have him hang you within an inch of the eternal flame.”

            With that threat staring them in the face, they all took off towards the kitchens, some running along the walls while others decided to take the mundane route for the sake of not having to step over paintings or light fixtures. The woman continued on her route to the back of the house through a long, dark corridor lit only by the light of the tall windows sitting underwater in the River Thames until she reached two enormous ornate doors. They opened to a winding staircase and at the end, she would find the door leading to the study of the man who owned the house, the man who changed the vast majority of the vampires living in this abandoned mansion, and the man who could tear the world apart piece by piece by cutting one little string at a time.

            The woman entered into the massive study and stopped at the desk in the center of the room. At the window that took up nearly an entire wall stood a man with slick black hair and his back to her as he looked out upon London across the river, his body still as if it were standing there dead, and the woman opened her mouth to speak.

            “Hoods do not hide your identity, Irene Adler,” said he.

            She stared at his back and narrowed her eyes as she dropped her hood, “You sent for me, _Jim_?”

            James Moriarty slowly turned to face Irene, wearing an empty expression but his eyes were alive with something indescribable, something that made it difficult for Irene to look him in the eyes.

            “How’s Sherlock?”

            Irene hesitated.

            “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to him in decades.”

            “Three months can be decades to some people—“

            “I saw him, I did not speak with him.”

            “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. I see he’s got a new pet with him?”

            “He is not showing any signs of killing the man. Sherlock has learned to live with humans and live with them comfortably.”

            “The urge to kill is never absent, Miss Adler. You know that very well.”

            Irene tried to blink back the tears that came with the prominent horrors of her past, but she failed. Her past was not one to be proud of and she never was. Killing innocent men, women, and children for her own sake; all she wanted was their blood and it cost them their lives. Sometimes at night, she can still hear their screams.

            “And you know it well too, Moriarty,” she hissed.

            “I don’t pretend to hide it, my dear,” he purred and began to saunter towards his desk where a file lay open, filled with blank pages, “Now about his new ‘friend’. Dr. John Hamish Watson, captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, shot in the shoulder and invalided home from Afghanistan. And there’s the cat out of the bag—“

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “Don’t interrupt me, Irene, it will not end well. Your Sherlock takes well to the men in the military, always has and always will, and now there is one living with him. Shot in the left shoulder and no longer uses a cane for his psychological problems blah, blah, blah, sister, no one cares, blah, blah, blah…tut, tut, what a shame. You know, I thought you two were absolutely perfect for each other, which is why I changed him for you. Turns out he wasn’t interested at all. Pity.”

            “I did not come here to be reminded of—“

            “I give him five months.”

            Irene stopped, her mouth hanging open, “I’m sorry?”

            “John Watson will be dead by the end of the five months, and if Sherlock doesn’t kill him, you will.”

            The silence in the room was heavy and the two locked eyes, and there in the pits of his black eyes she could see that he was right.

            “But what if I should be stopped by Sherlock?” she asked.

            “Then let him kill you.”

            Irene stared at him, her mouth open but saying nothing, and she then knew that this discussion was terminated. She bowed her head and turned on her heel to leave the room, followed by the quiet chuckling of Jim Moriarty. She couldn’t believe that he was dangling Sherlock in front of her face like that, treating her like that and making her feel more worthless than she already did. The acceptance of his newfound life among the humans could not come soon enough for her and frankly, she was still waiting. She would follow him sometimes to make sure he was safe and not being hunted. But that was as far as her tracking went…in her eyes, at least.

            But now as she watched Sherlock from a dark, abandoned building as he worked on a case with his new friend, his new partner, and she contemplated sending the wolves after him to make Sherlock turn from him. Yet even _she_ could see that Sherlock would not so easily leave him, especially in the horrifying state that the curse would leave him. Irene watched how Sherlock and John seemed to follow each other around like lost puppies finding protection in the other and she felt a pang in her chest. It was obvious to her that there was something undeniable going on between them, but she did not dare to address it.

            “You’ve forgotten me,” she murmured and just as she expected, Sherlock turned his head in her direction, but immediately turned it back to John and pushed him closer to a man with salt and pepper hair protectively. Irene choked back tears and decided at once she would not interfere. They were just friends after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NOTICE** There is a tiny bit of gore warning, but not much. It is brief. I thank you all for waiting patiently for this update :) Enjoy!

            There was absolutely no sign of Irene Adler since that wintry night and that alone made Sherlock a little more suspicious. He knew Irene had been following him or his activities for quite a few decades since he left her, but there was a part of him that knew it was only her way of making sure he was okay and not dead somewhere in London or in prison. John had no idea the encounter had even occurred and he had absolutely no reason to know unless her presence posed a potential threat to his safety. But since it did not, John was left politely in the dark and he would not know until the time came, if it ever would.

            One fine spring evening, John was lounging about the flat with the windows open--airing it out a bit since Sherlock refused to let him or Mrs. Hudson dust--when Sherlock decided to barge in the room with a boxful of blood and went to go put the packets in his special drawer in the refrigerator. John gave a heavy sigh as he watched Sherlock from his position on the couch and decided to follow Sherlock into the kitchen to unload his stock. It was a bit of routine now for the two of them to do this: John just sitting there absolutely fascinated by the fact that he had grown so used to watching this man, a vampire, going about his daily life like nothing about him was different. Really, there wasn’t too much of a difference except that Sherlock’s senses were far greater than John’s, he was far older, and he drank blood to keep himself alive. Oh, and he was supposed to be dead.

            “How often do you have to drink blood?” John asked, a surprisingly new question, “Sorry if that’s a bit out of the blue, I was just…wondering…”

            Sherlock closed the fridge and folded his coat over his arm as he set a juice box on the counter, and answered, “As often as I need to. Just like humans do when they’re hungry. Though, I do have a fairly different diet and eating habit than most humans or even vampires for that matter. I only drink these to…to…yes.”

            Without another word, Sherlock picked up his juice box, hung up his coat and scarf, and isolated himself from the world in his corner of the sofa where he sat and tapped away on his laptop, sipping on his juice box. Eventually, John decided he wouldn’t push Sherlock into giving him an answer, but he still had a few more questions to ask him despite knowing Sherlock was a vampire for just a little over two months now.

            “Sherlock?” John asked from the kitchen as he made his way into the sitting room to sit in his own chair.

            “Hm?” the detective replied, unmoving.

            “Can I ask you something?”

            “You just did.”

            “Ha. Ha. I’m being serious, Sherlock. This is important.”

            Sherlock sighed and moved his laptop aside to give his full attention to John, “Yes?”

            “Um…n-now that I know…what you are, is there any threat to my life? Not from you, but from others like you?”

            Sherlock had been hoping John wouldn’t ask that question, but he knew the man would have to wonder eventually. He just wished he would wonder after he got everything and everyone off his own trail and sorted everything out.

            “No,” he answered, “They don’t know you know, and they don’t even know who you are. You’re safe.”

            “Oh…good, that’s good…yes…”                                                                              

            “Is something the matter, John?”

            “No, I was just thinking.”

            “Thinking?”

            “Yeah, thinking.”

            “Of what?”

            “Just…about things. So, does normal food taste bad to you?”

            Swift change of subject, but a good one, he supposed. Sherlock shrugged and pulled his laptop onto his legs again, and answered, “No, not really. I just have to keep a good balance of blood in my diet for it to taste normal.”

            “Oh, I see.”

            “Yes.”

            The conversation came to a close and it seemed John was out of questions already and he did not need to ask anymore, nor did he really have a reason to. All the stereotypical questions had been answered, all the safety concerns had been answered even if not to the fullest, and John was comfortable still living with Sherlock without a problem whatsoever. The most he had to get used to was the mere fact that Sherlock could easily turn on a dime and kill him if he so chose. The mere thought nearly scared John to the core and he quickly banished the thought from his mind and tried to think about his full stomach and the long day at the clinic he had ahead of him.

            “I, uh…I think I’ll go to bed now,” said John as he rose from his chair, “You’ll be going to bed late again, then?”

            Sherlock nodded and took a long sip of his blood, continuing to scroll down through John’s blog and berate his posts both verbally and virtually. John shook his head as he climbed the stairs and locked himself away in his room where he would not be bothered the rest of the night. He needed this time alone to himself what with the hectic week of a quintuple homicide they’d just laid to rest; downtime was all he needed.

            As he changed his clothes and tucked himself beneath his sheets in his pitch black room, he began to think and allow his mind to wander. He thought about his sister and her drinking problem, he thought about his mother and father and how he’d forgotten to call them over the weekend for their anniversary, and he thought about Sherlock. The way he seemed to move like a ghost, the way he seemed so comfortable with John, and even the way he seemed to move along in the mundane lifestyle without a hitch…except his want for blood; that was about it. These thoughts sometimes kept John awake at night, but tonight, he fell right asleep and was out before he could even think about how great of an impact this vampire, this _man_ had on him so soon.

~~~~~~~~~

            Everything was black and a heavy scent of blood was pulling John towards an unknown object. As he was pulled forward, he found himself to be in the presence of danger, but what it was he could not see. It wasn’t until he was thrown into a large room that he found light, though it was a dim red and seemed…to have life. John carefully lifted himself from the floor and saw exactly where the sickening stench of blood led to.

            There over a young blond man’s body stood a tall, lanky, pale man with eyes as red as the blood that stained his lips and chin. However it was the dark hair atop his head that struck John with the familiarity of the man and he sucked in a silent breath. John was the half-dead man laying beneath the dark-haired man…his best friend.

            John shook his head in disbelief and tried to back up, but each move he made only forced him closer to Sherlock who was now bent over the other John, ready to drink the rest of his blood. John’s heart was thundering in his ears and the other John was trying to not move at all, yet his eyes followed the trail of blood and his eyes met John’s. His heart stopped and he broke contact to look up at the vampire whose eyes were now bearing down upon him.

            “Well,” he purred after a long moment, his eyes still locked on John, “what have we here? Another victim for my fangs to taste your blood…hm…delicious…”

            John’s heart was pounding in his chest and he fought to back up again, but he couldn’t move. The vampire could smell his fear and slithered over the other John, and the moment his black cloak swept over the body, he was gone, and they were alone.

            “I-I-I…” John stammered, but he was unable to make another sound, for Sherlock’s long fingers where caressing his cheeks and their faces were inches apart, the smell of blood overwhelming his nostrils and almost making him sick.

            “Hush now, don’t be shy,” Sherlock hummed as his fingernails traced over John’s cheeks.

            “Don’t touch me,” he hissed, but it didn’t seem to do any good, for Sherlock took his face in his ice cold hands entirely and pulled him a little closer.

            “I thought you were interested in this, John. It’s written clear on your face. Always has been.”

            “Stop—“

            “Oh no, no, no, dear John. I need to taste you.”

            “No you don’t. You stay away from me, monster.”

            Sherlock looked as if John had struck him across the face and the hands that were once gentle on his face became tight and his nails were digging into his skin, surely cutting him. John couldn’t cry out in pain, all he could do was weep and grab Sherlock’s wrists to try and pry them off his face as tears fell down his cheeks. But it was no use; Sherlock’s hold was far too strong and John was far too weak to pull him off. The icy hands around John’s face became warm as the vampire leaned in closer to sniff his flesh, to taste the skin of his cheek, and to feel the pounding pulse in his neck.

            “It’s a wonder I haven’t killed you yet,” he purred against his neck, “You’re so…delicious…”

            The moment Sherlock’s fangs dug into John’s neck, he let out the loudest scream and he sat up straight in bed, his forehead damp with sweat and the scream fresh in his throat.

~~~~~~~~~

            Sherlock was up the stairs in a matter of seconds and flipped on the light of John’s room before going to his aid, glad to see he wasn’t being murdered. However, the moment Sherlock went to John, the man backed up into the corner of his bed and tried to get away from him, though it seemed as if he was trying to climb up the wall and get out. John was terrified, his heart was pounding, and his hand was hiding his neck to keep it out of the vampire’s view. But he continued to advance towards the cowering human even though he knew how scared he was of him.

            “John,” Sherlock said soothingly, “John it’s me, Sherlock—“

            “I know w-w-who you are,” he stammered, “St-stay away from me!”

            Sherlock raised a brow, but it did not stop him from moving forward to try and comfort John. The only thing he was armed with was his fists and even though they were not to be underestimated, Sherlock wouldn’t be harmed by them.

            “John, please,” he said softly as he approached the end of the bed, John now about halfway up the wall, “It was just a nightmare. It’s alright. Please listen to me. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I have never done any harm to you and I will never do any harm to you. Drive a stake through my heart if I ever break that promise.”

            The doctor stared at him and slowly he let himself slide down the wall again, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock and not daring to let him out of his sight.

            “Don’t hurt me…don’t hurt me,” John mumbled over and over again as he closed his eyes, and Sherlock carefully approached him, sitting on his bed and slowly taking his hand in his own to press their palms together.

            “It’s alright,” he said softly, “I’m here and I will not hurt you. I’m sorry you’re afraid, but I promise you that whatever happened in your dream will not come true. Please believe me.”

            Slowly, John opened his eyes to rest on their hands pressed together and he was instantly calmed. He knew he was safe with Sherlock, he knew he would never do anything to harm him, and he knew that everything that he saw in his dream was just that: a dream. As long as he trusted Sherlock and Sherlock kept to his word, John would be safe. As long as Sherlock was around, John couldn’t be harmed. As John let their hands fall, he was in wonder at how Sherlock’s skin wasn’t as icy as he had expected. It was a kind of ice that still held a hint of warmth in it as if blood still flowed beneath his pale white flesh.

            “Thank you,” John said softly and pulled his blankets back up to his chin to hide his faint blush from Sherlock. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to let Sherlock’s hand go when he did, it felt too comforting for him to release it just yet. Yet there was something else seemingly hidden beneath it and he wished he hadn’t let him touch his hand; a feeble wish, really, but the thought was quickly banished as he hid himself beneath the duvet.

            “You’re welcome,” Sherlock said with a small smile and slowly rose from John’s bed to go back downstairs to his room where he would spend the rest of the night lying wide awake. He kept his ears and eyes open in case The Woman came by to “check” on Sherlock and see if his human was still alive. His human…it was a strange thought, but Sherlock had grown attached to John in a very short amount of time. There was something about John that made him special, something that made him his best friend, and it would keep Sherlock up and wondering for quite some time.

 

            By the time the morning sun rose, Sherlock had already showered, dressed, and prepared a small breakfast for John who stumbled into the kitchen around eleven in the morning.

            “Good morning,” Sherlock said as he sat across from the warm plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, “How do you feel?”

            “Like hell,” John mumbled and sat at his prepared place, immediately digging into the food and not caring if Sherlock had been the one to prepare it, “Couldn’t really sleep after you left last night. The nightmare just worked me up, I suppose.”

            “Oh…I see. But you’re a little better now, yes?”

            John looked up at Sherlock beneath his lashes before returning his gaze to the delicious food.

            “I will be after I eat. Do you have a case today?”

            “Not yet, no. Lestrade has been a little quiet lately, but there may be something soon.”

            “Nothing you’ve caused, I’m sure.”

            “No, not at all. I’m not a killer, I’m a detective. There’s a difference, John. And no, I would not kill them because I’m a vampire. I told you that already. It’s been over a century since I’ve last killed a human.”

            By now John had gotten used to the casual talk about Sherlock’s vampirism, though sometimes he would flinch at the gruesome tales Sherlock would tell him about the days when he worked in a butcher’s shop to try and keep a smooth cover and still get blood, so it wasn’t too terrible to hear talk like that first thing in the morning.

            “I know you’ve told me,” said John as he finished up his breakfast and took his plate to the sink, “Thanks for breakfast, by the way. It was good. I didn’t know you could cook.”

            “I’ve had plenty of time to learn, so I figured ‘why not?’ and voila.”

            “You’ve had time to learn a lot of things. Take up anything else?”

            “No, actually. I learned how to play the violin in my youth. Then I figured I might as well learn to cook to lure—“

            John gave Sherlock a look and he snapped his mouth shut immediately, averting his eyes to the wall behind John’s shoulder as a silent apology for going a bit too far.

            “What did you learn in your youth?” Sherlock asked, a quick and comfortable subject change, “Surely years in primary school and an academy taught you some sort of talent outside being a doctor.”

            An insult? Hell if he knew, but he didn’t take it as such if it was, and he answered with a shrug, “I learned clarinet in school. I can’t play, but I still learned.”

            Sherlock chuckled and rose from his seat to throw away his juice box and get out his violin to play away the rainy day. It would be a long day for the both of them, for neither of them knew that they were being watched by more than one vampire; neither of them knew that they were being watched by Sherlock’s brother’s men in case he chose to turn on his mortal friend; neither of them knew that something was happening to them and that something had the potential to get them both killed; neither of them knew that Sherlock Holmes had begun to let himself fall victim to human error.


	7. Chapter 7

            Unfortunately since John’s nightmare, he’d kept himself at a comfortable distance from Sherlock which meant he would try to keep himself at the other side of the room unless necessary. Sherlock would be lying if he said he wasn’t offended by the other man’s reaction to his nightmare, but he would also be lying if he said he had no idea why he would even consider doing what he was doing to keep himself safe. It was a natural instinct to keep oneself safe from predators, especially after a terrifying ordeal constructed in the sleeping depths of one’s mind, but he only wished John would talk to him or look at him like he used to and not be afraid.

            As if to answer his silent pleas, one evening John came downstairs after dinner and sat across from Sherlock at the table, his eyes on the vampire’s pale hands around his mug of tea. The doctor was silent, but there was clearly something on his mind and that something bothered Sherlock more than a fly buzzing around a fluorescent light or Anderson existing. John’s mind was swimming with everything he had thought to say and it was something he was having trouble coming up with and forcing himself to say. He took a deep breath and looked up at Sherlock, but the moment his eyes met the vampire’s brilliant blue ones, he had no idea what he was talking about or what he was going to say.

            “What’s on your mind, John?” Sherlock asked quietly when he realized he wasn’t going to utter a word.

            John didn’t answer immediately, but when he finally mustered up the courage to say it, he hardly voiced his words, “I think I need to move—“

            However, he did not get to finish, for John’s mouth was covered in a matter of seconds as Sherlock was suddenly behind him and pulling him out of his chair as silent as a mouse. John tried to open his mouth to speak again, but Sherlock silenced him with a firm grip on his jaw. That was when he heard the creaking of the floorboards upstairs and the voices coming from John’s bedroom.

            “They’re here,” Sherlock whispered, but his voice was loud enough to stop the footsteps upstairs, and suddenly John was dragged back into Sherlock’s bedroom rather forcefully. It would be a miracle if they didn’t find him by the thudding of his pounding heart.

            The door had hardly been closed before the detective had him hiding in the corner while someone clawed at the door and tried to force the door open. John’s heart was roaring in his ears as he watched Sherlock pull his wardrobe in front of the door and went over to him and handed him something wooden and something metal and cold. Oh. Of course.

            “Stay here and stay silent,” Sherlock warned him, “Don’t make a sound and if I tell you to run, you run. Listening to me is key. Understand?”

            John nodded, already complying (as if he could do anything else), and held the silver blade and stake close to his chest. All he needed now was an iron cross and holy water. He watched as Sherlock adjusted the gloves he’d put on somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom and shrank back further into the corner. The wardrobe was beginning to move and Sherlock was trying to keep the door closed by pushing all his weight against it, but the wardrobe was growing weaker and weaker until, finally, it broke nearly into splinters and Sherlock was shoved backwards as four vampires entered the room. John couldn’t move and he couldn’t breathe.

            Two vampires jumped onto Sherlock immediately, the sound of their fists connecting with the detective’s granite skin making John’s stomach churn. He just wished his heart would stop pounding. John tried to hide himself in his little corner more, but just one wrong move nudged the bedside table. No faster than the leg had scraped on the floor were the vampires over the bed and on top of John, and he was pulled off the ground in a flash, his weapons falling to the floor as they pinned him up against the wall by his neck. He grabbed at their hands but found himself at a disadvantage with their incredible strength and even more at a disadvantage now that he could hardly breathe.

            “Sh-Sherlo—,“ John stammered, but his throat was constricted more by the firm hand of the blond vampire standing before him and his voice was cut off.

            “Drop him!”

            The two vampires looked at Sherlock and one tried to advance on him, however the detective quickly slid under her and let her throw herself into the wall. _New dog; of course_ , thought Sherlock as he moved closer and stood behind the vampire with his hand tight around John’s neck, ready to kill him.

            “Let. Him. Go,” he commanded as another blade slipped out of his sleeve, but the vampire didn’t seem to want to listen, for his eyes were fixed on something on John. As John finally got around to looking at his eyes, he noticed how red his irises were. He recalled something that Stamford told him about how newborn vampires’ eyes remained the color of their blood until they were trained and they went back to normal. However these eyes seemed different…they were hungry, and unfortunately began to match the pair behind him. The heavy scent of blood filled John’s nostrils and it was then that he felt a burning sensation on his neck and on his arm and leg.

            Oh no.

            Sherlock’s eyes locked onto the doctor’s bleeding limbs, the blade dropped, and he began to fight himself to keep control and not kill his best friend. Sherlock’s fangs were already protruding from his gums and he could feel the venom washing over his teeth. _No, no stop!_ Sherlock thought to himself and shook his head in desperation. He could not kill him. He _would not_ kill him. _He would not kill John Watson_.

            Now fear was spreading through John’s veins and he was losing air and losing it fast. As the blood began to trickle over the vampire’s hand and a burning sensation was overcoming every open gash, he let out the loudest scream he could manage. That was enough to snap Sherlock out of his hungry trance.

            It happened entirely too fast. He was dropped onto the ground and the two vampires were in a scrap. There were snarls and growls and the sound of ripping cloth…or something, and then nothing but the yelp of an animal and the shuffle of the leaves outside as the other vampire ran. John was trying his hardest to cover his wounds and save himself from the hunger of his best friend. He never wanted to fall victim to him and he never wanted to be the reason Sherlock would fall back into his old habits. Yet here he was bleeding all over his bedroom floor and he was trapped in a corner as Sherlock crawled around the end of the bed to stare directly at him, his vibrant red eyes bearing into his own.

            “Sherlock,” he said quietly as he tried to force himself back into the corner, “Sherlock listen to me. Please…p-please...please, just let me get to the bathroom—“

            “Stop talking,” Sherlock commanded, though his voice was a low growl that shook John to the core. He nodded feebly.

“Please don’t hurt me…don’t hurt me,” John begged and closed his eyes, ready for whatever happened. The vampire raised his hand as if he was going to keep moving forward, but the moment John spoke and let out a small whimper of fear, Sherlock was snapped out of his hunt and he scrambled for the door. He couldn’t harm John, he promised him he wouldn’t. He refused to become the monster in John’s nightmare.

            Sherlock made it into the kitchen and dug through the fridge to find one of the blood bags he kept stashed for nights that he was…a little more unstable. The moment he got his hands on it he bit into it and drained the bag in a matter of seconds, blood staining his lips and now his hands. It wasn’t as warm as he wanted, but it would have to do. It was a small step towards protecting John, and it would have to be enough for now.

            “John?” he called, not daring to approach the other man or even go near his bedroom for both their sakes, “John are you alright? Answer me, please.”

             Sherlock’s voice worked through the fog in John’s ears and he slowly pulled himself to his feet, moving towards the door still in fear of the vampire that waiting at the end of the hall. He was terrified of the beast that was so close to killing him. He was terrified of everything that had just happened. He was terrified because Sherlock promised he would be safe. _He promised_.

            “St-stay where you are,” John commanded as he inched out of the room, his hand desperately groping the wall for a light switch and the handle to the bathroom door.

            “John, please listen to me—“

            “Why sh-should I?”

            “Because I’m your best friend.”

            “No, you were going to _kill_ me!”

            “No, I wasn’t, I…John, that wasn’t me. I’m sorry.”

            John stared at the other, his hand on the bathroom door, and he felt the last of his fearful tears slide down his cheeks.

            “Don’t come near me until I get these fixed,” the doctor commanded and disappeared into the bathroom.

            The moment the door closed, Sherlock turned and threw his fist into the wall, knocking a decent sized hole into it. It would be added to the rent, but he didn’t care; all he cared about was the man he had almost killed who was now cowering in the bathroom, his heart pounding by the smell of it. Sherlock took a deep, calming breath and slowly walked towards his room where the smell of blood was most prominent. He knew he had a few cuts on his cheeks from the rings the vampire wore, but they would heal by morning, and he knew nothing compared to the fear and the hurt that was felt by John Watson at that very moment.

            “He promised…he promised,” John muttered to himself over and over again as he began to clean up his wounds with his shirt and stitch them closed, his dog tags shimmering in the light from the vanity, “Now that a bunch of bloody vampires show up, he decides to become one of them…an animal…I should’ve known…I should’ve known…”

            But he knew he was being stupid and he knew he was making things up so he had a reason to be angry, but all he was, was terrified. His best friend nearly lost control of himself and cost John his life, and… John shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed.

            “He also saved my life,” he muttered and cut the thread with his teeth as he finished bandaging his arm and leg (which wasn’t as bad as he thought) and made sure his neck was covered and bandaged before he decided to actually leave the bathroom. His heart was pounding as he left the room, but he stayed at a safe distance from Sherlock, still fearful of him.

            “Is…is everything alright?” Sherlock asked and kept his place in the kitchen beside the refrigerator.

            “Yes,” John answered, his voice sharp, “Are you…are you okay?”

            Sherlock looked over himself and quickly folded his hands behind his back, nodding, and said, “Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, John. I didn’t know—“

            “Stop—“

            “Can you just let me explain for once?!”

            John stared at Sherlock, but eventually gave him a single nod and waited to hear his explanation.

            “I didn’t know they would come,” he began, “I didn’t know they were watching us. Well, those four I didn’t know but—let me finish! Only one woman is watching us and she is the woman that I was changed for in order to mate with. I never felt an attraction to her no matter how clever she was… _is_. She wants me to return to their coven, but I refuse to do so. I can’t go back to that lifestyle. Lestrade has been kind enough to keep me safe and in the dark with this condition and keeping me out of trouble. Those four vampires, two were newborns and only a little over a year old. They are very hard to tame, but if you’re in the right rank, they take orders as long as they get rewards. I was surprised when they left.”

            “Was the one who nearly killed me a newborn?”

            Sherlock shook his head, “No. He’s older than I am. He fought in the Eighty Years’ War, if that gives you an idea of his age. He’s a vampire who is clever, ruthless, and very much like the man who changed him except he…he cares more than…nevermind. He will be back I’m sure of it, but not for good reason. John, this time we were lucky you got out alive and we are both still here. I don’t know what they’re planning but I do know it’s not good. I need you to trust me and please stay here. Don’t move out. If you do, they will kill you and I cannot let that happen. You have to trust me, John.”

            “And why should I?”

            It nearly broke Sherlock to hear John say that, even if they have only been living together for four months; four of the most amazing months of his entire existence.

            “Because I need you. If you don’t trust me, it could kill us both. Please…please, John.”

            John looked at him for a moment, his arms crossed, and took a deep breath as he raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s.

            “All my life I never believed in supernatural stories,” he said softly and started to walk towards Sherlock, “yet here I am living in a flat with a vampire who doesn’t know how to clean himself up after a ‘meal’. You haven’t shown any aggressiveness towards me before tonight, but that was because that vampire made me bleed. I’m sorry for being angry with you, you couldn’t control yourself and I understand that. Of course I trust you.”

            Sherlock smiled and could have almost hugged John, but as he said, he didn’t know how to clean up after himself.

“Thank you, John,” said Sherlock, and he promptly went to clean himself up and not make another mess.

It was good that John trusted him and it was good that Sherlock hadn’t lost it entirely just because of his monstrosity, and now all they had to do was figure out how to protect themselves further from the coven that he once belonged to. Of course, the first thing to do once one has regained another’s trust is to lie to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another short chapter, it's a bad habit of my writing, but I promise you the chapters will increase in length as the story progresses! This is only the beginning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took forever to update, but I've had rehearsals, graduation, and shows this weekend, but after that I'll be doing nothing except sitting at home to let a piercing heal and maybe get my teeth ripped out yay! Anyway, I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. I had been planning to update two chapters at once, but I figured you guys have waited long enough and I decided to go ahead and put this one up. Hopefully Chapter Nine will be up next week! Thank you for being so patient! :)

Underground London, England, 43 miles (69.2 km) from 221b Baker Street

-Later that night-

Five vampires walked angrily through the halls of their home towards their master’s study, their skin cracked from their battles and their eyes red with thirst and anger. The Woman was leading them and yet no matter how hard she tried to mask her fear of their master with absolute and utter anger, it always managed to show through in her eyes. The mansion was silent for all movement seemed to have ceased in and outside the entire building, not a soul living or dead was around to hear the news of their mission. As they approached the study, the doors began to open and, as always, Jim was standing with his back to them as they entered and lined up side by side.

“Delta, Marcus, leave us,” said Jim and the last two vampires flanking Irene left the room without question and closed the doors behind them, and the three vampires left were closed in a room they knew not how to escape except through that door, “My three highest-ranking captains could not take down one ignorant vampire and one man. Daddy’s so terribly disappointed in you.”

“Sir, we didn’t anticipate—“

“Silence, Victor. You were put on this mission for one reason and one reason only: to take control of him.”

“If you would listen, I was not myself during our time at Baker Street. I almost killed his doctor, but I know now that it is not my duty. Seeing him for the first time since—“

“Since what, Captain Trevor?” Irene questioned as she looked up at the blond, already knowing the answer.

Victor turned as if to mock her, but he looked upon her with disgust and disdain.

“Know your place, Miss Adler.”

“I’m not the one who’s jealous.”

Victor glared down at her and opened his mouth to say something, but was only interrupted by Jim’s laughter.

“If only I had as many people after me as Sherlock does,” he laughed and silenced the other two entirely, “Sebastian, explain to me our scenario and how it can be appeased.”

“Victor is still valuable in this mission, for he does not let his emotions get in the way...usually,” Moran answered flatly, “but Miss Adler could put the mission in jeopardy with her obvious feelings for Holmes.”

“No, no, we need the Dominatrix on this quest. She knows how the human body works better than either of you, especially in…special situations. We need her and she will work for us in more ways than one. Has Sherlock imprinted on Dr. Watson yet?”

“Yes sir.”

“Has he formed the bond yet?”

“No sir. We were going to attempt to force it tonight, but the plan was abandoned when he attacked Victor in order to save Watson. We received two reports that the two had reconciled, Watson was attended to by himself, and he went to bed without Holmes following him or fear of being killed. Two spies remain stationed across the street in another flat and will give us more news by morning.”

“Move them two or four blocks back. Sherlock’s sense of smell has not dulled. He will know (if he doesn’t already) that there are vampires that are not friendly nearby and he will seek their termination if it means keeping his soldier safe.”

“Sir…?”

“We will extend his life until the end of the autumn. Both of them.”

“Wait, I thought we weren’t killing Holmes?” said Victor as he and Irene looked at each other with concern.

“You promised him to me,” Irene protested, “This mission was for me—“

“Oh calm yourself, Irene. You’ll have your chance. His heart is not mine to command.”

“You…you changed him for me. He was supposed to be mine—“

“As I said, his heart is not mine to command. I just wanted a little taste of his blood and only brought him home as a mere present. As he said to you before, his own words turning on him now, sentiment is often found in the losing side.”

Suddenly, the doors flew open and the young female vampire named Delta came running inside and stopped in front of the desk in a flash.

“Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but there’s news from the spies,” she said in a hurry.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Mr. Holmes has gone to Greg Lestrade for help with something and his supplies of blood are entirely empty.”

“They were full when we were there last night,” said Victor, “He must’ve drank them all after he realized how appealing John’s blood was to him. Sir—“

“He’s going to have to find more blood, otherwise John will be dead by the end of the week,” said Moran.

“We must have John alive,” said Jim, “Sebastian, you and Victor need to find Sherlock and bring him back to Irene. She needs to have a word with him.”

“Where shall we bring him, sir?” Victor asked as he began to leave with Moran.

“The dining room,” Irene answered with a small smirk, “John will get to meet the dogs.”

The two taller men stopped in their tracks and looked back to Irene in slight disbelief.

“You know some of them can’t be controlled,” said Moran as he turned back to face her, “If we let them loose on Watson, he won’t survive.”

“We will keep those here. Send the three oldest as well as the two Jim dismissed. They know their place enough to not kill a valuable possession.”

“And what if they do?”

“Then so—“

“She will be killed, as will they,” Victor answered for her, “Vampires who imprint will avenge their loved one to the death, even if it ends in their own. But Sherlock is a strong vampire and should not be underestimated. We will bring you Holmes, but you have to make sure the dogs do not kill John. They kill him and the entire mission will be terminated, as well as your life.”

“I don’t understand why it would matter—“

“Of course you wouldn’t. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself and James is feeding that to see how far you will go.”

“And he’s not feeding Sherlock to you? I know you go and watch him—“

“To protect him from people like you.”

“Why shouldn’t he be protected from people like you? You’ve been pining after him since that night--”

“Children, children please!” Jim moaned and walked around his desk to face them, “We have alternative motives: Irene wants Sherlock to come running back to her, Victor doesn’t want him hurt by another lover, and I want to watch him dance. We will keep him alive only for him to watch his doctor die. Victor, you need to get to John before Sherlock returns. Sebastian, get after Sherlock. I want him back here before midnight.”

“Yes sir,” they said in unison and immediately left the room, leaving Jim and Irene alone together again. She looked at him as one would look upon a crushed insect that she feared would come back to life at any second.

“You need to learn your place, Irene,” Jim growled, “Just because you are the fair female leader of our coven does not mean you get to the chew toy first. A fair queen waits until the toy has been played with enough and she then delivers the final blow.”

“You know nothing of monarchy,” she hissed and set her stance, his hands balled into fists at her sides.

“And you know nothing of proper discipline. You are to wait here for Sherlock Holmes and you are not to kill him. The idea of this game is for him to suffer as his John does. Do you understand?”

Irene took a deep breath before she chose to answer, and only did so with a nod before being dismissed. Jim watched her as she left and the moment she was out the door, he turned to watch the four vampires climb the wall to the city and disappear behind it. He hummed softly as he walked around his desk and walked his fingers along the wood as if he were playing pretend like a child.

“Jack and Jill ran up the hill,” he muttered and grabbed a knife from his pocket, “to fetch a pail of blood. Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill waltzed right into his mud.”

There was a loud crack as the knife was shoved deep into the wood of his desk over the photograph of John in his file containing all the information Irene, Victor, and Moran had gathered.

**“Such a shame...he only wanted a flatmate.”**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I do apologize for it taking so long to update, but I've been extremely busy with college and moving in and it's been a wild time. Thank you so much for being so patient :D BONUS, this is the longest chapter thus far and I hope you enjoy it :D

**_ Chapter Nine _ **

 

            Late in the evening, John returned home from a night out with Stamford, tired and hungry due to the shitty bar food he didn't want to eat, but he was surprised when he found the flat entirely dark. However, the moment he reached to turn on the lights, Sherlock, lying on the sofa in the dark, jumped up and hid himself behind his chair, begging him to not turn on the light. Confused, John walked forward and glanced around the room to see if there was a body somewhere in the room drained of blood, but he didn't see nor smell any.

            "Are you alright?" he asked and took another step into the room before Sherlock cried out and begged him not to come closer.

            "I need you out of the flat until Molly can get me more blood," he said, his voice quick and filled with panic.

            "Sherlock! You haven't had blood for over a week! What the hell is wrong with you--no, no, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry. What happened?"

            "M-Molly ran out of donors. I swore off human blood and I don't want to start up again. I'm a disgusting creature when I have fresh blood...I don't like it."

            John looked at him with a sympathetic expression, and his face fell as he tried to take another hesitant step towards him.

            "Don't move!" the vampire commanded as he shielded himself further behind his chair, "I'm disgusting. Hideous creature...go away, John."

            Something sparked in John when Sherlock told him to go away. Maybe it was the love for a dear friend, but maybe it was also his unhealthy attraction to danger and dangerous situations. Either way, John walked forward and flicked on one lamp, and he saw how horrifically pale Sherlock was. God he looked like a ghost. The vampire shrunk away from the light and tried to conceal himself in his coat, but it was no use. John had already seen the dark purple bags beneath his eyes and the long white fangs protruding from his mouth.

            Then an idea struck him.

            "Drink from me," he said, very sure of himself, but he didn't understand why, exactly.

            Sherlock slowly raised his head and stared at John, his eyes narrowed as if he was playing a horrible trick on him, but he began to stand nonetheless. "You do realize this means I could kill you," he said, his words not really a question as much as a statement.

            "Yes, but I trust you," John murmured, "I know you'll stop when you've had your fill."

            Sherlock stared at John still, but no evidence of lying could be found on his flatmate, and so he rose to his feet and took two steps closer to John, approaching him with the utmost caution.

            "You...trust me?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

            "Yes, of course I do. I have since you didn't let me die that one time..."

            The detective couldn't help but laugh. "Since that one time...John, you do realize I haven't saved your life at all? You've been the one to save mine on multiple occasions."

            "You did save my life, Sherlock."

            "How?"

            "You're my best friend."

            It was very strange to hear those words, especially from John, but he could see (even in the dim light) that he meant it and he always would. After a long moment of consideration, Sherlock agreed to drink from John, but only enough to last him for another few hours or at least until morning. Both of them were nervous, but that wasn't going to help anybody, and it certainly wasn't going to help John keep his blood pressure down so Sherlock could drink properly.

            John sat cautiously on the sofa and pulled off his jumper, leaving him in just a plain t-shirt, and Sherlock slowly approached him as he removed his own coat before sitting down beside him. He took a deep breath before picking up John's wrist, which felt warmer than usual, probably due to his ice cold hands, and he swallowed hard, which gave him just enough breath to jump up and close and lock the doors.

            "Why are you doing that?" John asked nervously.

            "Because if I don't, Mrs. Hudson might see," he said, "and I just don't know what will happen when we do this..."

            "What do you mean--?!"

            "John, it's nothing serious. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it."

            John stared at him for a long moment, and at last sighed as he held out his wrist to Sherlock, trying to steady his heart and not be so nervous.

            "Just relax," he murmured. Sherlock watched John for a moment, waiting for his pulse to quiet down, and after a long moment, he slid his tongue over the doctor's wrist to numb it before sinking his teeth into the soft, pink flesh.

            It was like nothing Sherlock had ever tasted before.

            John felt a strange sensation overcome his body, and his heart began to thud in his chest as he discovered he was scooting closer to the detective. _Relax_ , he told himself, _He told you to relax_. It was strange, but not frightening at all to him to be doing this, and John was obviously now much more comfortable with his best friend than he had been in the past. But this sort of comfort...it didn't feel much like relaxation. Far from it, actually. That was when a moan escaped John's lips.

            The doctor's face flushed red and Sherlock's eyes had popped open, in turn causing him to remove his lips from the other man's wrist, though he didn't stray too far. John wouldn't look at Sherlock, but god did he want to. There was something about him now that was completely and utterly different in a very, very good way. His heart skipped a beat when their eyes met, John not knowing a single damn thing to say, but when Sherlock's eyes flicked to his lips, both men knew the other hadn't missed it.

            "Have...have you drank enough?" John asked, his voice a little uneasy, for the space between them was getting smaller and smaller.

            Sherlock hesitated when John asked the question and closed his hand over the punctures on his wrist to stop the bleeding, his eyes now locked onto John's lips. At last he shrugged when he could smell John's breath, and he answered, "I'm not sure."

            Before John could stop himself, he tilted his head just so and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. It was absolutely electric; it only made him want so much more despite the taste of fresh blood on his lips. Sherlock, however, was completely taken by surprise, but he hid it well and simply kissed John back. Oh yes, he had drank enough, but not enough to satisfy his thirst entirely. It was only enough to create a blood bond between himself and John, and only enough to create another thirst that they both were wanting quenched.

            _Stop_ _this, you idiot_ , Sherlock scolded himself mentally just as he deepened the kiss, _You alone have done this to him. What if he doesn't want it? What if he's just under your spell? Stop...stop this before it goes too far._

            By then, John had moved so their legs were pressed together now and sliding between the other's, and Sherlock knew in the back of his mind that he couldn't (and wouldn't) stop this now; not when John was being so intimate and bringing about the fire in his belly. He was scared, but the taste of blood was still fresh on his lips and it made him want more. And so, after a moment, Sherlock parted his lips from John's and moved them back to the bloody puncture wound on his arm and began to drink again. This time, John didn't hold back his moan, he let it go and he began to pepper Sherlock's neck with kisses and even a few shameless marks.

            However the moment John's lips began to try and wander beneath his shirt, Sherlock licked a seal over the punctures and turned to bring their lips back together with a heated passion. He didn't care what anyone else would say, he didn't care if anyone would see them, and he certainly didn't care if John wore his scent around like this for the days and weeks to come. It may have just been their minds being clouded with the passion that the blood bond brought about, but that was what was supposed to happen. The imprint meant that they were supposed to be together, that they were soulmates. This was right. This was meant to happen.

            "John," Sherlock breathed against his lips as his hands began to tug at John's jumper, but stopped once he decided to let the other man make the first move to show him he was comfortable with it.

            "Go ahead," John hummed, something in him helping him to not feel so insecure or afraid of Sherlock touching him, "Please."

            With John's plea, Sherlock did as he asked and laid the jumper on the coffee table neatly so it wouldn't wrinkle, and Sherlock let his hands wander over John's smooth chest for a moment, admiring the way his skin felt. It wasn't too fleshy, but it wasn't incredibly tight either. It was just perfect and just the way he had imagined John would feel.

            Sherlock's hands continued to explore John's chest beneath his T-shirt and John's hand continued to tangle into his dark curls, soft moans escaping from the both of them every now and then, and soon, they were dying to get the rest of their clothes off. One by one went their shirts, one by one went their trousers, one by one went their shoes and their socks, but everything stopped when they were left only in their pants and breathing heavily. Their eyes trailed over the other's body, sometimes even their hands, and John was suddenly on his back on the sofa with his lips pressed heatedly to Sherlock's in a deep, passionate kiss. John's hands were tangled in Sherlock's hair as the taste of his own blood again became prominent on his lips, but if Sherlock stopped now, he had no idea what he would do with himself.

            "Can...can we--" John began, but before he could finish, Sherlock had scooped him up into his arms and was carrying him back to the bedroom with grace. The vampire laid the doctor carefully upon the sheets as they kissed, and he quickly locked the door before he returned to Johns side and began to kiss all over his body, greedy in his choosing where to place kisses and where to leave marks.

            That night went by in a blur for the both of them, every ounce of pleasure (and pain) taken happily with grace. Neither man cared what the world would think or what their friends would say or do, and they simply had each other with bliss. Unfortunately, neither man seemed to give a damn about the consequences.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

            The following morning, John awoke to the bright sunlight breaking through his bedroom window, which was strange since the sun never shined on his face like this in the morning. The sheets even felt different, he was a little cooler, and he even ached a little as if he'd gotten into a fight the night before. It was only Wednesday, so why would he go out drinking? Stamford never went out on Wednesdays and he never went drinking by himself... He shrugged it off and yawned, curling into the body beside him.

            Wait a moment.

            Slowly, John raised his eyes to look upon the man who was holding him close with his arms wrapped around him almost protectively. But the man with whom he was sleeping just happened to be his best friend. Maybe he was dreaming? This would be one of his more extreme dreams, but the way he felt and the way the room was exactly as he recalled it the one and only time he was in there made it feel...more real.

            John let his hand wander up his body to his side, remembering how smooth his skin felt and how interesting it was to feel his own body heat warming the vampire's. However with that thought, John pulled his hand back very slowly so he wouldn't wake Sherlock. This was all extremely strange, but at the same time, extremely uplifting. _Finally_ , John thought, a thought which surprised him tremendously.

            He swallowed the lump in his throat as he chose to take in the rest of the scene around him, secretly admiring the way the sheets hung dangerously low on Sherlock's slender hips. There was something completely and utterly strange about that, however, for the moment he noticed the loose sheets, he noticed the incredible amount of bruises and...where those teeth marks? Oh god.

            The doctor's breathing picked up as he slowly began to remove the sheets and look over himself, but the moment he began to do so, Sherlock's hand grabbed his wrist, and he looked up at Sherlock as if he'd done all the wrong in the world; almost like a child who had been caught stealing the last biscuit from the jar. John again had to swallow the lump in his throat, but this time, it wouldn't go down, and he was quite sure his pulse was picking up with fear. His lips and throat went dry and he had no idea what he was going to say or do or anything at all.

            "I'm sorry," Sherlock said, though his voice barely made it above a whisper.

            The look in Sherlock's eyes was one to break a thousand hearts, but before John could do or say anything, Sherlock was up and out of the bed, backed against the wall faster than the blink of an eye. Apparently, with the way Sherlock's eyes were trailing over John's body, it was bad. That's why John felt so sore.

            "Sherlock..." he murmured as he tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his hips had him on his back once more. Sherlock looked away as the realization became clear on John's face.

            "I am so sorry, John," he said, his eyes filled with sincerity and sorrow, and even heartbreak if one were to look hard enough, "I couldn't control myself...I'm sorry, I didn't...I am sorry..."

            John's eyes stung for a moment as though he were to cry, but he fought them back; he didn't need to upset Sherlock any more than he already was. He swallowed hard and forced himself to sit up again, finding that this time it still hurt, but not as much. Slowly, he started to pull the sheets off his hips to look at the damage done, following the bruises and bite marks (and even finger prints) until he could see his private areas.

            "Oh god..." John whispered, but he did not mean to say it out loud.

            Sherlock crouched down against the wall and felt his throat burn with the need to cry.

            "I'm so sorry, John," he murmured, "I didn't mean to hurt you. That's why I was afraid to drink your blood..."

            John was staring at all the dark, bruise-like marks along his thighs and the mess of white stickiness near his backside and over his stomach. He felt his neck and found that the marks he remembered being left there by Sherlock...oh. It hadn't been a dream after all.

            "Sherlock?" he said quietly as he covered himself again and looked at the other man, waiting for him to raise his head to continue on, "Did...did you put some sort of spell on me to do this?"

            Sherlock shook his head and looked John in the eyes with the utmost sincerity, "No, John. You willingly offered your blood and I promise you that every action the both of us made was not the effect of some supernatural spell."

            It felt like an eternity before John nodded his head once and looked down at his wrist to find the two wounds that looked like they were healing very nicely and wouldn't scar. He sighed heavily and looked up at him with loving eyes, something he didn't know he would ever feel for Sherlock Holmes. As the sun broke through the curtains even more, Sherlock backed away from the bed and therefore John.

            "Sherlock," he said softly, though his voice was firm, "Please...come here."

            Sherlock shook his head like a defiant child refusing to own up to a broken rule, but John insisted. He gestured for him to come forward, yet the vampire still made no effort to move, his simply shook his head and watched John like he was a very, very fragile piece of glass that one gust of wind could break him.

            So John took a long, deep breath and sat up to turn towards Sherlock properly, an action that caused a shot of pain to rocket throughout his hips. "Please come here," he said gently, "Darling--"

            "Don't call me that."

            The hiss that came from Sherlock's mouth almost fazed John. Almost. He was set on getting Sherlock back over to the bed to sit down and relax, no matter how long it would take him to do so.

            "Why not?" John asked.

            "Because you don't mean it. You're just saying it to get me to move and John Hamish Watson, I will not move until you can."

            "I can move. See?"

            John waved his hands and wiggled his toes and his fingers, even his arms and could only move his legs so much before it ached in his hips. He hid the pain as well as he could, but Sherlock still wasn't convinced. The vampire carefully moved around the room to avoid the sunlight and the bed, and he quickly closed the curtains before the light could burn him. John sighed as he laid back against the pillows and began to inspect the puncture wounds on his wrist.

            "Will you come here?" he asked again, "Please? Sherlock, I'm not a bloody piece of glass. You won't hurt me. It's okay. I promise."

            "John, I took advantage of you last night, I can't--"

            "No you didn't!"

            "Yes I did--!"

            "Would you just listen to me?! Sherlock, you did not take advantage of me. I remember what we did and I know how I've behaved with you over the past...almost year, but believe me when I tell you that I wanted it. I wanted it last night, and I have no idea why, but Sherlock..."

            Sherlock didn't want to listen anymore. He knew John was lying. He had to be, right? No sane man would want to have anything to do with this...this _creature_ the world called a vampire. He was a monster and he hurt the love of his life more than he ever wanted to.

            "I wanted it. I wanted _you_. Please believe me..."

            "John..."

            Again Sherlock shook his head, but this time, he crawled on to the end of the bed and sat there on his heels, not even caring about his indecency.

            "If I'm wrong, tell me why I am," John demanded, "But I know I'm not, and I will not listen to your argument until you come here and sit with me. Please."

            The other man hesitated for a long moment until at last, he gave into John's wishes, and he slid forward so their knees were touching. Sherlock covered himself with the blankets and refused to make eye contact with John. He was still ashamed of what he did last night, but he knew he had to tell him why it happened anyway. At some point in time, John would have to know, and better now than later, right?

            "I had put off my thirst for so long because I thought it might help me cure myself," he began slowly, "but that's not the case. I don't know why I thought it would help. I suppose that maybe it would end my immortal life and make me mortal again but keep my age and live a long life with you. However, all it did was just make me a bloodthirsty monster and I hurt you."

            He closed his eyes to theoretically allow himself some alone time, but John luckily interrupted him and took his hands to hold in his own.

            "I told you that you could drink some of my blood," John murmured as he ran his thumbs over the back of Sherlock's hands soothingly, "I trusted you to stop when you'd had enough to sustain you, and I still trust you around me. I don't exactly know what happened last night, but I don't regret it."

            The words sounded strange coming from John, even to himself, but he did mean every single word. He was happy to have been had by Sherlock. He was happy that Sherlock was the man he gave himself to. He was happy that he was here in his bed with him the morning after their first night together.

            ''Will you tell me what happened?" he asked quietly, reaching up to stroke Sherlock's cheek, and he was surprised that the vampire let him do that, "I felt...different. I felt more attached to you and more confident."

            Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat, and he wore a smug smile for just a moment before it fell into a pitiful frown. "We...we formed a blood bond last night," he told him and quickly went on before John could ask any questions, "I felt our imprint the moment we met, but it didn't become prominent until I almost got you killed..."

            John's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't move away from Sherlock, though he did lean forward a bit as if to ask him to continue on.

            "Drinking your blood it's...it's like nothing else I have ever tasted before," he went on to say, "Just because I drank from you, it intensified our imprint and therefore created a blood bond. It means that once you're connected to a human or even another vampire, you're partners for life. You will do anything for them and you will do anything for their safety. Of course you would do that for the one you've imprinted with before the bond is made, but there's a difference in bonded vampires, or in this case, bonded vampires and humans."

            "What is that difference?"

            "The difference is...if one is in danger, the other knows and can feel it. If one dies or is killed, the other will not stop to avenge their death or find a way to commence their own. One cannot live without the other. So...when you die of old age, I will live on, but most likely not for long."

            Sherlock's cheeks went a dark red and he curled up into a ball to hide his face from John. Unfortunately for him, John didn't want him to hide, and so he unwrapped his arms from around himself and scooted closer to Sherlock to lace their fingers together. This was strange, but something about this whole experience made this...not strange. He felt like he'd known Sherlock his entire life, and he felt like he knew this was going to happen one way or another (at least the relationship aspect...wait, were they even considered to be in a relationship now?).

            "I can't live without you, John," he whispered as he raised his eyes to meet the human's, "Please don't ask me to...please..."

            John shook his head and rested their foreheads together as he rubbed his thumbs soothingly over the back of Sherlock's hands, hoping to calm the both of them down at least a little bit.

            "I won't ask you to," he murmured, "I'm sure I can't live without you either. I know I can't. Not now. We've been through too much together."

            Sherlock smiled shortly and let his eyes fall closed as he became lost in the intimacy shared between himself and John, the man he never thought he would be allowed to love; the man he never thought would return the love he felt; the man he had fallen head over heels for the first day they met, and yet here he was with the most amazing human being in the entire world, holding his hands and wanting so very much to just lie in bed with him and hold him until the sun went down.

            "We had our first kiss last night," said John, seven words he never thought he would hear from him, "But in all honesty, I can't quite remember how it went..."

            Sherlock could feel John's pulse pick up when the question was asked, and he couldn't help but smile a little at that.

            "It was soft and sweet," he told him as John reached up to cup his neck, "A little heated, but that was alright."

            John laughed softly and pulled back slightly to look up into Sherlock's eyes, smiling and still surprised at how calm he was. Maybe it was because Sherlock was his best friend before all of this happened. Or it could have been because of the bond they now shared (or always shared, by the sound of it).

            "That's not what I meant," said John, his smile widening.

            "Oh? What did you mean, then?"

            John smirked this time as confidence waved through him, yet as their lips neared, his smirk fell and he became solemn and even a little bit nervous.

            "I meant to show me again."

            With those words hanging in the air between them, Sherlock sucked in a deep breath before he allowed John to seal their lips in a soft, gentle kiss much like the one they shared the night before. It wasn't at all like John expected it to be; it was more intimate and felt...right. Their lips meshed almost seamlessly, and the soft sound of their lips parting made his heart skip a beat, though it was something he didn't want to end. The kiss was to perfect for it to be ended so soon.

            "I think that was better than last night," Sherlock murmured, "What do you think?"

            John nodded and kissed Sherlock again for a short moment, "I think it was better than last night."

            A blush crept up on Sherlock's cheeks when John kissed him a second time and even more so when he said it was better than last night. Of course, a part of him knew that if they were to...you know...again, maybe it would be better than this time 'round caused by bloodlust. He felt foolish, but at the same time, completely and utterly blissful. John was Sherlock's, Sherlock was John's, and they both seemed to know it, and they both seemed to be entirely okay with it. At least for now. Sherlock had no idea how long the effects of the bond would last, at least since his last feeding. Still, it was strange how the two of them were okay with being completely naked in bed together after having...never mind.

            "Sherlock?" John asked after a long moment.

            "Yes?" he answered and sat up a bit more so he could look at John more comfortably, if he were even able to.

            However, John wasn't able to speak after a moment when the realization completely set in at what they had done and who the both of them were. Rumors would be spread all over the place if anyone saw the marks all over their bodies (and John was almost certain he had marks all over his neck), but God take him if anyone had heard them. John hated the feeling that he had for Sherlock, but at the same time, it felt absolutely amazing. At that very thought, John's face turned a blood red and he covered himself once more and sank back into the bed.

            "U-uh...I would like to...to dress," he muttered, "Uh...w-would you be able to...to turn around?"

            Sherlock felt his chest drop and his mood fall entirely through to the ground, but he did nod and hastily crawled out of the bed to give John his clothes before he hastily left the room. The man ran upstairs to hide himself away, unsure what he could do or what he _would_ do, but all he knew was that he was in love with a man, a soldier, that seemed would never truly love him back.

            "He's afraid of you, you fool," he growled to himself as he curled in a tight ball on John's bed, "It's your fault he's in this mess, and it's your fault he's in pain. He was only supposed to lend you his blood, not his heart..."

            Sherlock shook his head shamefully and began to draw circles in the sheets and hum to himself woefully, the pain of the absence of tears burning his eyes. Oh John...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where part of the M-rating comes in!! Not entirely, but a little :) (also sorry for taking forever! Death in the family and other issues. Thanks!!!) Enjoy!

          A few days had passed before John could look at Sherlock properly again, though he still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and the two of them seemed to be desperate to talk to the other. John still had trouble walking properly and was glad when his bruises began to heal, especially the ones on his backside. Thank God nobody could see these, he would be absolutely humiliated. He never told Sherlock the true extent of the damage, especially about the handprints on his back or on his backside, nor did he tell him that his desire to kiss him had grown over the time they’d been separated or even the fact that he felt alone in his bed at night. But that was just something he couldn’t tell Sherlock. It was a one night sort of thing and despite their bond, John was a little afraid to be considered the lover of another man, let alone a vampire or even Sherlock Holmes.

            With that thought in his head, his heart sank and the bite mark on his wrist throbbed a little as if it had a heart of its own and was breaking. John shook his head, brushing it off as his own pulse, and decided to go make himself something to eat, though it was still difficult to get down the stairs. When he entered the kitchen, Sherlock was already sitting there with a juice box in front of him, sipping the blood as he read over John’s most recent blogpost. He didn’t even acknowledge John when he entered the room, but he did notice when he sat in front of him at the table and began to cut an apple.

            “You can sleep downstairs if you’d like,” said Sherlock suddenly, “Your walking is pathetic.”

            John narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Not my fault.”

            “Certainly not.”                                                                                     

            “And I don’t want to sleep down here.”

            “Why not? Surely you’d be more comfortable?”

            “Why do you care so much?”

            “Is it wrong for someone to care about another human being?”

            “In this case, yes.”

            Sherlock looked up at him and opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but shut it immediately since whatever he said seemed to have little effect on John other than to upset him.

            “I am sorry, John,” he said softly and closed his laptop to throw away his empty juice box, but stopped when he felt the words coming to him, “For everything. But even though I do not know what love is, I know you cannot take back that night and you cannot take back the way you kissed me the next morning when I had absolutely no influence on you. That’s not fair to either of us. I’m still sorry for hurting you that night, but our blood bond is true and it will never go away no matter how hard you try, John. We never have to have sex again, but I have to tell you that all blood is now dull to me…except yours. Yes it fills my thirst, but it doesn’t taste—“

            “Enough, Sherlock. That. Is. Enough.”

            “John—“

            “No! I don’t want to hear anymore, Sherlock! You want me to fall in love with you, but damn it, Sherlock—“

            John stopped himself short before he said something he felt he would regret at the time and never be able to look at Sherlock ever, ever again. He shook his head and turned away from Sherlock in a retreat to the sofa in the sitting room, not wanting company but craving it so, even if it meant it was from Sherlock… The detective seemed to have heard John’s thoughts and cautiously approached him from the kitchen, though the only comfort he brought him was a soft, gentle hand on his firm shoulder.

            “John…” he said softly, “John, please let me explain this to you and please, please listen to me…”

            He only sat there and stared at the floor, unsure what to think or even what to do, but eventually, John did turn and look up at Sherlock with a blank face as he tried his best to hide his emotions.

            “Explain what?” he asked in a choked voice while he tried to regain his composure.

            Sherlock took a deep breath and let out a sigh, relieved that John was finally letting him open up and tell him everything he could, and said, “When…when you allowed me to drink from you, that was consent and therefore it had already started to form the bond because you trusted me so much. And, because you trusted me so much, the bond became true and truth be told, John…you and I are soulmates. I could feel how upset you were after I left you that morning and I could feel you crying when you were in your room alone. It is strange, but it’s what happens when a vampire forms the blood bond. A bit repetitive, but I don’t know how else to explain it to you, John. I…I wish I could take it back if you wanted me to, but—“

            “Don’t say that.”

            Sherlock lifted his head up and tilted it to the side before he opened his mouth to say something, but John held up a hand and raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s.

            “Don’t say anything like that,” he said firmly, “Sherlock, this is the most cliché situation I have been in, but I also know when you’re being an arse and lying to me. I know you aren’t the type of man to do this to someone without their consent even if from the stories it seems to be part of your nature. This…this blood bond, I understand that it is permanent and I also understand that there is nothing I can do to change it.

            “When you said that you had felt me crying and felt me upset that morning, I felt your heartache when you went upstairs to leave me alone to dress. It was strange to me and at first I thought I was just being silly, but then I realized that I couldn’t have been more wrong. Also, I would be lying if…”

            “If what, John?”

            John looked down at their hands as the few moments of suspension felt like hours, and slowly, so slowly, raised his head so their noses were brushing and his heart pounding against his chest.

            “If I said I hadn’t been in love with you since the day we met.”

            The moment the words left John’s lips, he half-expected to regret them and want them back, but he knew that when he spoke the truth with Sherlock that he would never regret it, not even now when their lips were so painfully close and not touching when he felt they should be.

            “John…” Sherlock murmured as he shifted closer and felt their lips brush ever so slightly.

            “Please…” he whispered, and just moments later their lips were gently pressing together before they began to add more pressure and move just a bit more; Sherlock didn’t want to make John uncomfortable so quickly, but it seemed the doctor was just as eager as he was. John’s hands slid up his chest and locked in his hair as if those curls were the last thing on the planet that he’d ever feel, and for all he knew, there was a great chance they would be.

            “John,” Sherlock repeated softly when their lips parted, though he still didn’t want to let the other man go, “May I ask you something?”

            The other man’s heart skipped a beat, but he nodded anyway and flexed his hand slightly in Sherlock’s hair as the other took a deep breath.

            “Since you’ve accepted our bond, it would mean the world to me if…if…”

            “If what?”

            Sherlock took yet another deep breath and opened his eyes to look into John’s absolutely beautiful blue ones. “If you would mind sharing my bed with me.”

            John’s heart skipped a harsh beat and he felt his nerves tingle at the question, so much so that he couldn’t answer for the longest time.

            “E-even if only for one night,” Sherlock added quickly, “Forgive me, but I don’t want to leave you by yourself for too long now. I have to protect you, John. I have to.”

            So many things had changed between the two men in such a short amount of time, even more within John, and it was something that felt so amazing to the both of them that there were no words to describe how…amazing, loved, and wanted both men felt. Of course the answer was going to be yes, but John was having trouble speaking; something about Sherlock kept taking his breath away, and the initial shock had a little something to do with it, too.

            “I will,” John finally answered, “I thought you’d never ask.”

            He smiled and leaned forward to seal their lips together again, though he did have trouble keeping himself from grinning like an idiot; this man, John Watson, was the entire universe to him.

            “Thank you, John,” Sherlock said between kisses, “This means the world to me, it truly does.”

            Even though the words were right there on Sherlock’s tongue, he didn’t dare let them tumble from his lips despite the fact that John had just told him he was in love with Sherlock. So the vampire held the man close as they kissed, and soon, he had John lying back on the cushions with their chests pressed together so that Sherlock could feel the other’s heart beat beneath his shirt. For once John was grateful Mrs. Hudson had left them alone for the weekend.

            “Sherlock,” John gasped when their lips parted, “We should…probably be more careful.”

            “Careful how?” he asked as his lips ghosted over his jaw.

            “C-careful as…as to not go too far…”

            Damn.

            Sherlock slowly backed off John (though not without a stolen kiss from his soft lips) and carefully sat at the opposite end of the sofa to watch the other man as a cat would observe his surroundings. All John did was prop himself up on his elbows and look over Sherlock’s body curiously, admiring the way the sun hit just one half of his face and brightened his beautiful sea green eyes. Then it hit him.

            “Why don’t you burn in the sun?”

            Sherlock’s head tilted at the strange question, but he supposed it deserved a valid answer since he was planning to spend the rest of his years with this man.

            “Direct sunlight doesn’t include through glass apparently,” he said, “I’m safe indoors unless the windows are open. Believe me, we’ve tested it more than needed.”

            John gave a weak smile before sitting up and crawling over to Sherlock to take his face in his hands and just…look at him. God he was beautiful, and his cheekbones were quite unfair, much like his eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he ran his thumb gingerly over the full lips and felt the cool breath from his nostrils wash over his hand as their distance grew shorter and shorter. As John looked over Sherlock, he let his hands move to his chest and over his buttons while thoughts and curiosities rumbled through his brain about whether or not he wanted to see Sherlock in this golden light.

            “May I ask what you’re doing?”

            His hands froze in place over Sherlock’s chest and he slowly looked up at him with a slightly guilty expression, but he was surprised to find a soft, encouraging smile on the other’s lips and found himself at a loss for words.

            “Uh…” he finally managed, “I was just…looking.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yes. Looking.”

            “And feeling.”

            “Yes and—wait—“

            “No, it’s alright, don’t worry. I’m comfortable with you and…your hands feel nice to me, to be entirely truthful. Please, John. Do as you like. You won’t hurt me. I’ll stop you if you go too far.”

            John hesitated, but eventually he gave a slight nod and went back to his work admiring the man before him. His fingers gingerly traced over the buttons of his shirt once more until, with unsure hands, he unbuttoned the next button and the next and the next before stopping just above his navel so the vast majority of his torso was exposed.

Learning, that’s all this was. Learning. He wanted to learn how Sherlock’s body looked and felt beneath his fingers when he wasn’t in a flurry to get his clothes off—nevermind. The doctor shook the thoughts from his head and gently pushed on Sherlock’s body so he would be the one lying back against the sofa and John be above him, and he carefully pulled Sherlock’s shirt tail free from his trousers so he could finish unbuttoning it and let it fall open. John remembered how this body had looked that morning, how his own had looked, and for a moment he was afraid to continue.

            However, he felt Sherlock’s soft hands cupping his face and heard his soft voice cooing to him, letting him know it was alright. Wait…was he…was he _crying?_ John took in a shuddering breath as he raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s before their lips were together again in a soft, comforting kiss. The detective was trying his hardest to help calm John even though he wasn’t entirely sure why he was crying, but then again, neither were entirely sure.

            “Ssh,” he cooed and pressed John’s ear to his silent chest, “Please don’t cry, John. It’s alright, I’m here…”

            “I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John breathed and tried once more to silence his tears.

            “Don’t be sorry. It’s alright. Here, let’s go get some rest. You’ve had a long day already.”

            After a moment’s consideration, John agreed and started to get to his feet, but Sherlock surprised him by scooping him up and carrying him gracefully back to the bedroom to lay him on the bed comfortably.

            “Hold on,” John said just as Sherlock’s arms slid out from beneath him, so Sherlock stopped, but was surprised when his lips were captured in a deep kiss, though it wasn’t unwelcome or even undesired.

            When their lips parted, a smile was slipping onto both their lips and their hands moving to lace fingers together. Part of Sherlock wished that maybe one day, and one day soon, John would let him lie naked with him once more and maybe not even do anything except enjoy the other’s company, but the other part of Sherlock, the darker part that he refused to let through to hurt the man he was completely and undeniably in love with, wanted to turn John so he would never have to be alone and never, ever have to live without him.

            “I love you,” Sherlock whispered, his fingers tangling in the other’s sandy hair.

            “I love you, too,” John murmured and found himself smiling wider at the realization that yes, yes he did love Sherlock…by god did he love him. He would go to the ends of the earth and back to protect him and keep anyone from hurting him.

            He just didn’t know that the man he had fallen completely in love with was about to be put to the ultimate test.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long again! Rough semester at school and then heartbreak and other personal stuff. But here you are my lovelies! <3

**_Underground London, three months later_ **

****

            Since the first time John and Sherlock had truly confessed their love for each other and let their relationship blossom to the point of sharing a bed, the coven had slowly backed off, which was not a good sign. The time for Sherlock’s trial was drawing nearer and John’s blood was becoming more and more valuable to them, knowing that if it were to be spilt, Sherlock would not be able to resist the feast. Yet the others were not so keen on waiting so long for the “right moment”; Irene wanted her revenge, Victor wanted out of the deal, Moran was growing bored, and the dogs were restless for another kill. Jim, however, was getting a bit too much fun out of watching them squirm under his hold; it was always fun. But now the four of them were standing in Jim’s study waiting for orders as to what they should do about the two before Sherlock made his decision.

            “I think it’s been over five months, Jim,” said Moran spitefully, “It’s been over a year. Two springs they’ve known each other and we haven’t made our move yet.”

            “I didn’t expect him to last this long,” Jim answered solemnly as he flipped through the pages of their file, “We have to act fast, otherwise we’ll have a newborn on our hands and not under our control.”

            “Sherlock won’t let us within an inch of John. He’ll have grown even more protective of him now which will make it harder to separate them.”

            “Yes, I know. Victor—“

            “No.”

            The others, even Irene, were surprised to hear Victor refuse Jim’s wishes, but even the man who would do anything to have Sherlock once more had reached his limits.

            “Excuse me?” Jim hissed.

            “I said no. We can’t do this—“

            “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice, Victor. He betrayed us—“

            “How? He hasn’t done a damn thing except fall in love with the man he was supposed to and try to start a life for himself without costing anyone else theirs.”

            Jim shook his head and rolled his eyes, “You know he cannot be forgiven—“

            “Jim, this is ridiculous. Why are you doing this?”

            “He must learn a lesson, Victor.”

            “Why?”

            “Just try to understand. We told you what Delta saw, we told you that he would destroy us when he did change John, and we told you that he would not get out of this alive.”

            “But why?”

            Irene and Moran looked between them and Jim didn’t really seem to understand why he was so opposed to this, but then again, he didn’t really care.

            “I must destroy him,” Jim answered, his voice low and dangerous, “My only competition is no longer enjoyable. He must be beaten, and feeding John Watson to him is the greatest pleasure I can have.”

            Victor sighed and shook his head before straightening himself and sauntering over to Jim.

            “You really think this is the way to go about ending Holmes’ life? Why not kill John Watson outright? Sherlock will be begging for death then. You know how hard it is for soulmates to kill one another and that it is impossible without the help from another outside source that we don’t want to mess with, especially since we haven’t uttered a word downstairs in centuries.”

            “Yes…yes you’re right.”

            “He’s right?” Irene chimed in suddenly, “How—“

            “Sebastian, collect Johnny Boy for me. Victor, go with him and get Sherlock. Make sure they are both quiet when brought here and keep them separated.”

            “Shall I take the dogs?” Moran asked.

            “Just three or four. Sherlock will put up a fight and the dogs are stronger than him.”

            “What about the wolves?”

            “Leave them here. The full moon is soon and I can’t lose John to lycanthropy.”

            All three nodded and bowed to Jim before they left the room and went immediately to the dining room to leave Irene there. She wasn’t entirely too thrilled to be left alone, but at the same time, she didn’t mind, for she was getting what she wanted…more or less. In a matter of hours, maybe even days, Sherlock and John would be dead and they wouldn’t have anything else to worry about, as it should be.

            “Don’t harm him,” she warned them, though her voice was soft even as she looked at Victor, “Please.”

            “We will do what we can,” said Victor, “but mind you, we could be gone a few days.”

            Irene sighed and slowly turned to take her seat at the high end of the table as though she were queen, the feast of the night prior still lying with his ribcage broken open in the middle like a roast.

            “Don’t harm him,” she warned them again, and with that, they were gone and she was alone to think and wait.

 

 

**_221b Baker Street_ **

 

            About three months had passed since John and Sherlock had first started sleeping together and the two had been living a somewhat domestic life together. Well, if domestic means solving murders and case after case for New Scotland Yard and cleaning out the fridge of severed body parts, then their lives were completely normal. Some nights they didn’t even make it back to the bedroom, Mrs. Hudson would just find them curled up together on the sofa with their shoes still on their feet, but tonight they luckily had the night off and were lounging together on the sofa, Sherlock’s head resting comfortably on John’s shoulder and John’s arm around him. Still, he was a little tense around Sherlock as if he were going to seduce him once more.

            “John?” Sherlock asked quietly as he looked up at him.

            “Hm?” he answered as he turned the volume on the television down.

            “Why are you still uneasy around me?”

            “What? I’m not, Sherlock.”

            “Yes you are.”

            “No, I’m not.”

            “Then kiss me.”

            John froze at Sherlock’s request, but to prove his own point, he kissed Sherlock swiftly on the lips and sat back against the sofa.

            “See? Not tense.”

            Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat up more to bring their faces close together, their lips almost touching but not quite, just enough to make John squirm and his heart pound in his chest.

            “Tense,” Sherlock purred and laid his hand tenderly over John’s chest.

            “N-not tense…” John argued, but failed to keep his voice steady.

            “Tense, John Watson…relax.”

            The way Sherlock’s deep baritone voice vibrated against his chest and went straight to John’s trousers was absolutely agonizing. He hated the way the man was able to reduce him to a quivering pulp of…whatever he was, but he had grown to fall completely in love with what he could do to him and how he could make him feel whenever he wanted.

            “I…I love you,” John breathed and kissed Sherlock tenderly, unable to bear the distance any longer.

            Sherlock smirked against his lips before returning the gentle kiss and wrapped his arms around his lover so he could turn and have John settle atop him instead.

            “I love you, too,” he murmured and subtly began to deepen the kiss to distract John from his wandering hands that were now sneaking up the back of his shirt.

            Of course, John _did_ notice, but he didn’t say a word to stop him from feeling him the way he was because—damn—it made him feel absolutely amazing. Luckily Sherlock kept it at a boundary to let the tightness in John’s trousers relax since he knew the other man was not ready for that just yet.

            “Sherlock?” John asked breathlessly when their lips finally parted.

            “Yes?” he answered as he began to card his fingers through the other man’s hair.

            “Can…is there a chance that we could maybe move this…elsewhere…?”

            Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up and a small smile turned up the corners of his lips, though he was still surprised at John’s question. Still, something was telling him that John was only meaning for their protection against Mrs. Hudson or any other intruders that might happen upon them, and so he gracefully scooped up the other man and carried him back to their bedroom.

            “I can walk, you know,” John said as he was laid down and the door was locked behind them.

            “Yes, but this is much faster,” Sherlock teased and quietly climbed on top of John and kissed him deeply, nibbling on a few open places free of clothing. Both of them tried to sustain from making a single noise, but both were finding it difficult, especially when Sherlock was making the room hotter than it needed to be.

            “Sherlock…” John breathed and tangled his fingers in his dark curls as Sherlock’s arm wrapped around his waist to lift his back off the bed. The cold lips against his hot skin were making every aspect about this man incredibly difficult to resist even though every part of his brain was screaming for him to stop him, but he was finding it entirely too difficult to let his body follow through. Even as the vampire began to unbutton his shirt, the man could not let him go just yet. The heat, the want…the desire…everything was keeping him locked in Sherlock’s grip and he just wanted to get the rest of his clothes off.

            It seemed that Sherlock could hear his thoughts, but he was gladly going slowly just to torment John and make him sweat before he would be completely undressed beneath him, which apparently wasn’t going to take long. Before he knew it, John was having his jeans tugged down his legs by Sherlock whose shirt had ended up on the floor, and John was beginning to sweat despite the cold body maneuvering around him. Sherlock’s hands were soft and smooth against John’s bare skin, and each touch had him practically aching for more, especially when the long fingers began to tug at the waistband of his pants.

Three months had gone by and not once did they end up in bed together like this; they usually fell asleep right when their heads hit their pillows. Yet John was glad their relationship had come to this, and he was glad that he was knowingly giving himself up to Sherlock Holmes, the man he never thought he’d fall absolutely and completely in love with. So there they were, both fighting to get the other’s clothes off, but when it was John’s turn to remove Sherlock’s pants, he became hesitant and a little unsure.

            “It’s alright,” Sherlock reassured him, “This is all the further we go if you’d like. I don’t mind at all.”

            John looked up at him with soft eyes and smiled, pulling him down into a deep kiss and holding him there for the longest time.

            “I love you,” he murmured and ran his fingers gingerly through his hair, “I want this. I really do want this. I want to remember how you held me and kissed me and not let everything be a blur like our first time. I know you bought specialties for this, so I want to make it special.”

            The broadest grin spread over Sherlock’s lips and he bent to kiss John once more as his fingers curled into his pants and both of them were left in their dignity, exposed for the other to relish in and enjoy every second of it.

            “I love you so much, John,” he breathed as he began to kiss down the doctor’s body, stopping just above his pelvis as somewhat of a tease, and when the other man finally let loose a moan, Sherlock felt himself harden. To him, it was the most exhilarating feeling in the entire world and hopefully John would be wanting him still, for his erection was solid as a rock and would probably cause the other pain he might not want to remember.

            “John?” he said softly as he straightened himself over the other, “Darling…I don’t want to hurt you.”

            John raised a brow and looked over Sherlock in confusion.

            “You won’t hurt me,” he insisted, “I want this.”

            “I know, but there…there is a difference between us and the way our bodies work. Give me your hand.”

            John’s other brow shot up, but he didn’t protest and quietly gave Sherlock his hand. He watched as the vampire carefully wrapped it around his erection while his other hand wrapped around John’s to get him to feel the difference.

            “Oh…” he breathed and looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, “That…that brings an entirely new meaning to…Sherlock, I still want this. Do whatever you have to do to make it more comfortable for the both of us. Either that or I will get myself off—“

            “No!” Sherlock shouted, though he quickly cleared his throat and rested his hand on John’s cheek, “I want to make this pleasurable for you.”

            “Then please…please take me, Sherlock. Please. Light candles, get your favorite lube, play music, do anything you’d like. Just please, please take me.”

            Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded once before hopping off the bed and running around the room to light every single candle he could find, turn the fan on for John, fluff the pillows, and finally get the small bag of different lubes he’d bought for them. When he brought them over to the bed, he could see the excitement yet a little twinge of fear in John’s eyes…and Sherlock almost backed out.

            “John…” he murmured as he sat beside him on the bed and set the bag aside, “I will take good care of you. I won’t hurt you as far as I can help it, I promise. After this, I will make sure you’re safe and healthy and—“

            John easily cut him off with a kiss and fingers knotted in his hair, and said softly, “I trust you. You do whatever you feel you must when we’re finished, okay? We’re in this together.”

            Those words coming from his lover’s lips were like music to the vampire’s ears and all he could do was straddle him and kiss him as if this were their last night on Earth.

            “I love you so much, John Hamish Watson,” he murmured against his lips, “Just tell me to stop if you need me to and I will. I’ll take you straight to the bath and clean you up. Promise.”

            The smaller man grinned and kissed the other heatedly, his heart pounding and his legs wrapping around the other’s body to press them firmly together as the red glow of the sunset seemed to aid the mood. God this was amazing, the feeling of Sherlock Holmes’ body pressed against his own and the sound of their short breaths turning into moans as John’s entrance was teased with cold, nimble fingers. Their kisses were growing deeper and deeper and John’s body was growing hotter and hotter, and just as Sherlock’s fingers slid inside him, the doctor let out a loud, gasping moan, his fingers and heels digging into his back.

            “Oh god…” John breathed and squeezed his eyes closed as Sherlock carefully slid another finger inside him, the lube coated on them suddenly having turned ice cold after being so warm. Sherlock hesitated moving in further, though he continued after quadruple-checking with John that he was okay, and slowly removed his fingers to slick his own member after putting on a condom.

            “I’ve got you,” he murmured as he moved up to kiss John softly, “I won’t hurt you…”

            With John’s nod of approval and his kiss returned, Sherlock slowly began to ease himself inside the other man. He gave a soft cry of both pain and pleasure, but John didn’t ask nor want him to stop moving, for the heat and knowledge that the man who was taking him loved him and would never, ever hurt him. On purpose at least, but for now, he couldn’t help _but_ hurt John. It had been months since they last had intercourse, and even then John couldn’t remember what it felt like, but he knew now that going so long without sex was going to cause him pain each time.

            At last, John felt the confidence to wrap his legs around Sherlock and help him slowly ease himself further inside him until he could go no further, and by now, their moans of pleasure were audible even as Sherlock left mark after mark on his lover and captured his lips in kiss after kiss, not ever wanting to let him go even after the sun rose high in the sky. Sherlock slowly rocked back and forth to begin sliding in and out of his lover and peak their pleasure as John’s fingers dug into the skin on his back, shuddering moans escaping his lips as he felt Sherlock hit his prostate.

            “Sh-Sherlock,” John panted and his heels began to dig into Sherlock’s back to the point where he could feel each and every muscle move with each thrust, “Oh…harder, please o-oh…god, yes, please!”

            Of course anyone would smirk and obey their partner when they sounded like _that_ and begged like _that_ ; it was enough to fuel the fire in Sherlock’s belly as he picked up pace and aimed right for John’s prostate to bring about his pleasure as fast as he could. Their breath was hot and fast and sweat was beginning to dot the human’s skin, something that the vampire desperately wished his body would do in a time like this.

            “I-I’m here,” Sherlock panted as he kissed John’s jaw and moaned against his throat, “I’ve…got you…”

             John nodded as best he could, fighting through the pain, and suddenly, his body went taut and with another shuddering cry, his climax spilt onto his stomach and his body fell limp.

            “Oh shit…” he panted and began to slowly comb his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as he rode out the rest of his orgasm, “That…that was amazing.”

            Sherlock smiled and slowly slid out of John, his body trembling with the desire for his own orgasm that he could not have, and he kissed him sweetly to help him calm down a little more.

            “I’m glad,” said Sherlock as he reached for a cloth to clean up his lover, though he noticed he was in pain that they could have otherwise avoided if only Sherlock wasn’t a living rock. He frowned when he noticed some small tears and he tilted his head up to look at John with a million apologies in his eyes. “John…”

            “Ssh,” John hushed him tenderly and kissed his lips as he cupped his face in his hands, “Don’t worry about me. I wanted this and I knew the consequences. I trust you, Sherlock. And I love you.”

            Sherlock’s eyes burned with the lack of tears as he closed his eyes and lowered his head in shame. Yes he believed John, but the only part of what he had said that he believed entirely was the fact that he loved him…that was all he had the power to believe.

            “I hurt you, John…” he mumbled and sat back, wrapping his arms around his knees, “I made you bleed—“

            “Sherlock, I don’t care,” John argued and slowly moved forward to pull Sherlock back into his arms, careful of the soreness in his backside, “I told you I knew what could happen and I wanted to make love. You don’t need to worry about me, I promise. I’ve got the weekend off anyway, so I’ll have a little time to heal as much as I can.”

            Sherlock didn’t utter a word as he relaxed in John’s arms, but that’s all John needed was to know his lover was no longer on edge. “John?”

            “Yes?”

            “You sound very sexy when you moan my name.”

            At that, John couldn’t help but laugh and tilt Sherlock’s chin up to kiss him sweetly, humming against his lips before pulling back with a soft chuckle.

            “You sound sexy all the time,” he said teasingly and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s messy curls, “Especially when you’re tired from sex.”

            Both men grinned as wide as could be and embraced each other tightly as the last blood red light of the evening began to disappear behind the skyline. This had been one of the most exhilarating nights of their lives, even in Sherlock’s ancient years, and in one swift movement, the vampire had the doctor cradled in his arms and carried him to the bathroom where he started a bath for his lover.

            “You are absolutely amazing,” John hummed as he straddled Sherlock on the edge of the bathtub, “But I think you still have something that needs to come off so you can get off.”

            The doctor raised a kinky eyebrow, but Sherlock’s face fell slightly and he looked down between them, his heart sinking.

            “I can’t,” he murmured as he tossed the condom into the bin, “I’m not able to have an orgasm like humans are. Not anymore. I’m dead, remember? I can’t cry, I can’t sweat, and I can barely make moisture anywhere. I just want to give you all the pleasure I can while you’re still here and safe with me.”

            John frowned and took his hand in his own, kissing the other’s ice cold palm. “I can at least give you pleasure in return,” he murmured, “Even if you can’t get off, I still want to make you moan like that. It was truthfully very, very sexy.”

            Sherlock blushed and ran his fingers through John’s messy hair before pressing a soft kiss to his lips and then trailing it down to his shoulder, his hands like feathers on the soldier’s sides. Even if John could get him off (sort of), Sherlock wasn’t sure it would be the best idea now, especially considering the fact that he could have easily split his lover—no, he didn’t want to think about that right now; that thought alone was just terrible for him to even fathom.

            “You need a bath,” Sherlock told him after a long moment of silence, “I have to clean you up and help you heal. Please, let me do that for you my love. The water is warm and you need rest as soon as possible.”

            The other man pouted and laid his head on his lover’s shoulder before Sherlock slid with him into the warm water, smiling happily as it began to comfort and relax him more. John laid against his chest and watched the water lap against the sides of the tub before it finally settled as he and Sherlock relaxed even more in the water.

            “Sherlock?” John said after a long, long moment of peace, “May I ask you something?”

            “Yes, of course,” Sherlock answered and began to rub his hand up and down John’s back.

            Just as John opened his mouth to speak, one of their phones began vibrating loudly through their trousers on the bedroom floor.

            “Lestrade,” John muttered and tried to climb out of the bath, but Sherlock held him firmly in place.

            “Let it go,” he pleaded and kissed over John’s neck to try and convince him to stay.

            As much as John wanted to stay there, he really couldn’t make himself, especially in times like these where people were being murdered left and right and it seemed that Sherlock’s former coven was involved.

            “I can’t,” he said and kissed Sherlock lovingly before forcing his way out of the water, “I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”

            Sherlock could have easily held John there, but he knew Lestrade wouldn’t stop calling if it were important, especially when he was calling at an hour like this. So he watched John walk into the bedroom and pick his trousers off the floor to answer his phone. As he sat there, Sherlock remembered every single curve of John’s body, every vein, every scar, just everything...especially his arms, his legs...his hips. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes, but when John’s tone became worried, his voice stopped, and then he seemed hurt, Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up in the water, ready to get out.

            “Yeah...yeah I’ll send him down,” John said quietly as he turned towards Sherlock and used his index finger to ask him to come into the bedroom, “Yeah, no problem. I have some stuff I need to catch up on anyway. Are...are you sure you don’t need me? Oh...right, yeah. Still—no? Okay...right...yeah, he’ll be there as soon as he can. Nah, it’s alright. Goodbye.”

            When John hung up the phone, he looked up at Sherlock and let out as sigh as he walked into the bathroom to drain the water, his step surprisingly smooth considering the damage done.

            “Lestrade needs you in,” he said and handed Sherlock a clean towel as he put on his own dressing gown, “He said he needed your head on straight so I needn’t come along...”

            John shrugged, but it was obvious to Sherlock how hurt he was.

            “I don’t have to go—“ he began, but John cut him off.

            “You need to. Seriously, we both know it’s something important. Otherwise, Lestrade would leave us alone. You know this.”

            John pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s soft lips and pulled him into the bedroom so they could get dressed. He hated when Lestrade only wanted Sherlock, but what he hated even more was being left alone; he didn’t even think about the dangers anymore since they were so far away. They hadn’t heard or felt anything from the vampires in weeks, but John just assumed stupidly that they weren’t going to kill him anymore since they found Sherlock so valuable to them, so he felt like Sherlock being out for a little while wasn’t going to hurt anything.

            “I’ll miss you,” he murmured when Sherlock put his coat on, “Solve a crime for me.”

            Sherlock smiled and kissed John deeply before putting on his scarf, and said, “Stay human for me.”

            With another kiss, he turned and hurried out the door (he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t run), and that was that. John was left alone and the vampires began to close in.

 

~~~

 

            Sherlock hated when Lestrade made him leave John at home even _if_ part of him understood why he was to be alone. Lestrade had texted him the details of the case and, as he predicted, yes it was a rather interesting case. Much like John: complex yet an open book, only to him. He missed those beautiful blue eyes and that incredible laugh and smile...oh and the way John kissed him and made him feel almost alive again—

“Case, case, case,” he muttered to himself as he forced his mind to get back on track as it so lovingly hated to do when he would think about John, “Body with a letter burnt into the skin of the--”

            However, Sherlock did not have time to finish his sentence, for a harsh smell attacked his nostrils and he turned just in time to face the man he had not been alone with in almost fifty years. He felt a drop in his stomach, but he didn’t move closer to the man, he only stood ready to protect himself against physical and emotional harm.

            “Evening, Victor.”

 

~~~

            There was absolutely nothing on the telly and John was lacking interest in any movies or anything in general. He was sore and missed his lover... The doctor smiled to himself at the thought of considering Sherlock his lover, and the happy thought let him relax a little more. He would be home soon and then everything would be alright, so he had to keep himself relaxed and distracted until then, otherwise he would be driven mad with boredom. No wonder Sherlock ended up shooting walls when he was bored.

            Music filled the flat as John tried to distract himself while he made his dinner, humming to himself and thinking about the case and all the possibilities he could think of. Nothing in the way of self-harm or anything since the action was far too delicate and wouldn’t turn out that way if they’d burned themselves; besides, it was a branding. A branding, of course! Sherlock needed to find the branding iron and figure out who or what it belonged to and if it was the marking of a gang or something.

            Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening and closing caught John’s attention and he turned the radio down to see if he could hear Sherlock grumbling about the case. Nothing. John’s eyebrows furrowed, but he shrugged it off. He kept the radio turned down until he could hear someone coming up the stairs, but even then he didn’t hear a sound. Maybe Mrs. Hudson was home and just wanted to go to bed. No...he hadn’t heard her door close either.

            “Sherlock?” John called as he turned around, but the moment he did, he looked up and saw a familiar man climbing over the top of the doorframe and onto the ceiling.

            “Smells good, John,” Sebastian hummed, his voice dangerously low, “What’s in it?”

            John couldn’t move and he was cornered, backed against the counter with a wooden spoon in his hand. This was one of the times he wished Mrs. Hudson would lock both front doors.

            “Some onions,” he answered, “and a little bit of garlic. Want a taste, Sebastian?”

            Sebastian shook his head as he dropped from the ceiling and landed on his feet before John, a frightening grin upon his lips as he strode towards the doctor.

            “No, thanks,” he said, “my dinner is waiting for me already.”

 

~~~

            Victor smirked as he sauntered towards Sherlock, his eyes looking over his tall, slender figure that hadn’t changed since the last day they saw each other. It made Victor’s stomach drop at the sight and the knowledge that he was no longer welcome in this picture, but that didn’t matter now. He had a job to do.

            “You haven’t aged a day,” he said spitefully.

            “I could say the same about you,” said Sherlock, “but you look like you’ve gotten a bit of sun. You haven’t told anyone what she did to you, have you?”

            “That’s nobody’s business. You knew about it the first and last night we spent together.”

            “Jim probably knows about your weakness. A disgrace to your man--”

            “I didn’t come here to make jokes, Holmes. I’m here to extend an invitation to your former home.”

            “An invitation? For what?”

            “Dinner, of course.”

            Sherlock’s mouth watered at the mention of dinner, but he shook his head and tucked his hands in his pocket, waiting for an advance.

            “I decline,” he said simply, “I’m not leaving John to be attacked by--”

            Before he could finish, Victor began to laugh and the scent of more vampires was filling Sherlock’s nostrils. This was an ambush.

            “He’s already being taken care of by our friend Sebastian,” Victor said, though he was still laughing a bit, “Accept the invitation or he will be served at dinner. Your choice, Holmes.”

            Sherlock looked around at the walls of the alley to find the walls seemingly crawling with dogs, but another scent filled his nostrils to an almost overwhelming point. Oh no…

            The moment Victor mentioned John being served at dinner, Sherlock’s mind began to work in a frenzy. They only wanted him there so he would rejoin the coven or die, therefore they would either feed John to him or make him watch as they murdered him. Either way, John would be brought to the safe house alive. Sherlock did not have to accept nor decline the offer in order to see his lover alive again, but he had to be careful about what he said or did; one wrong move could kill John Watson before he made the front door.

            “And if I decline anyway, you’ll still have me forced back to that wretched hole?” he said casually, doing well at hiding his fear and desperate need to protect John, “I’m not an idiot, Victor. I know how all of your minds work.”

            Victor simply rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers for the dogs to advance but not attack. Before he knew it, Sherlock was faced with about a hundred new vampires stalking towards him, some of them behaving rather like starving animals the way they crawled. He still kept his face blank and unafraid as he looked at all of them, actually behaving rather bored.

            “Sebastian will definitely be eating well tonight,” Victor said and moved closer to Sherlock, a dark brow raised as his walk became more seductive than predatory, “Come on, Sherlock. Come away with me—“

            “No.”

            “Don’t you remember our love?”

            “I chose to delete it. I don’t want anything to do with any of you, Victor. I left that part of this damned life behind me.”

            Victor narrowed his eyes, realizing now that Sherlock would not be an easy target to lure into their trap...well, as easy as he could get. The man was a damn genius and could practically read minds. But as Victor advanced on him, Sherlock could feel himself giving in to some...some warm, fresh scent...of course: they all had blood on their person. Damn it.

Sherlock looked around the alleyway for an escape route, eyeing the walls and some of the lines above their heads; they were lined with new vampires and there was one...no, two werewolves circling the perimeter. If he didn’t go, John would die and in turn, Sherlock would practically be a walking corpse...or at least behave more like one. But before he could make a move to run for John, he was tackled and gagged and dragged through an open sewer.

            _Don’t kill John,_ he thought to himself as he was taken from the surface, the light of the moon disappearing from sight as the manhole was closed above them.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me ages to upload! I wrote a couple chapters during the hiatus, so don't worry! :) I'll be uploading the next one very soon! Thank you for being so patient! :D

**_Underground London_ **

 

            Sherlock hated being trapped in this damned place, especially when they had him tied to a chair in the dining hall across from a brutally mutilated corpse with flies buzzing around him, and looked to have the signature work of Irene Adler all over his body. The stench was almost unbearable, but he knew it too well to be disturbed by it at all, considering that Miss Adler could be heard down the hall talking with someone else about how delicious her meal was and how much she loved hearing him scream. Sherlock looked around the room in hopes of finding some easy route of escape, but he couldn’t find one and chose to sniff the air for John with the help of his mind palace.

            The vampire relaxed in his bindings, closed his eyes, and began to breathe in slowly through his nostrils and out his mouth to relax his mind and body further. Soon, he was enveloped in his mind palace, searching frantically for John throughout the entire underground labyrinth (or castle, as the coven liked to call it), but so far he was coming up empty handed. That was until he heard the front doors open and two incredibly strong scents hit his nostrils: one vampire, one human.

            “John.”

            Sherlock opened his eyes immediately and turned his head just in time to see Moran carrying John’s limp body over his shoulder into the dining room. Thank God he wasn’t dead. As he watched, Moran tied John to a chair roughly and placed the chair beside Sherlock without a word before leaving both men alone.

            “John?” Sherlock whispered after a moment and moved to nuzzle his head under his chin to try and wake him, “John, it’s me, Sherlock. Wake up, please.”

            Luckily, John wasn’t bleeding and his skin didn’t show any sign of venom coursing through his blood, but he was incredibly bruised, for Moran had knocked the man senseless before he could get him down here. Still, Sherlock had to worry about his lover and he had to make sure they both got out alive. He knew that if John lost him or he lost John, neither man would be able to carry on in their lives; it’s just how bloodbonds and soulmates worked.

            “John...” Sherlock pleaded and laid his head on his lover’s shoulder, “Please...”

            Finally, the other man stirred and groaned in pain and weakness, but he couldn’t have been happier to see Sherlock.

            “Sher...Sherlock,” John stammered and laid his head atop the other man’s, “Are you...okay?”

            “Yes, I’m fine. Are you alright?”

            “Yeah. A little...little banged up, but I’ll be okay.”

            Sherlock sat up and kissed John’s cheek as he tried to relax the both of them, but also to get John’s scent back in his nostrils and make sure he was still human. Thankfully, he was and Sherlock could only hope that it would never change, especially against his will.

            “We have to get you out of here,” said Sherlock quietly and began to fight with the knots on his bindings, but they wouldn’t loosen any, “Damn it—“

            “Well, well, well.”

            Both of their heads shot up at the sound of Irene’s voice in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and her black gown that was splattered with blood.

            “Miss Adler,” Sherlock groaned and scooted closer to John protectively, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

            “Consider it a ‘hello’ from an old lover—“

            “I never wanted anything to do with you. We were never, ever lovers and we never will be.”

            John looked between Sherlock and Irene, his heart skipping a beat a little, and he swallowed hard as he gripped the only hand of Sherlock’s he could reach.

            “Oh no, not from me,” said Irene and she stepped aside to allow Victor through the door, his eyes tracing over the shorter blond man and then his eyes locking on Sherlock. John’s heart pounded with both fear and jealousy despite the fact that he knew Sherlock was his and always would be. Victor was absolutely stunning in every way imaginable, even John couldn’t deny his attractiveness.

            “Evening, Sherlock,” said Victor, his voice like velvet, “I see you’ve found a new puppet?”

            “He’s not a puppet, Victor,” Sherlock growled, “What do you want with us?”

            “Isn’t it obvious?” Irene chimed in, “Deduce, Mr. Holmes. Brainy is the new sexy.”

            John’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t take his eyes off Irene, though he could feel Sherlock’s discomfort and irritation beside him; however, something else was ringing in the air between them and the soldier in him was beginning to become extremely protective, and he didn’t even know that was possible.

            The silence between them was absolutely deafening and John could practically hear his heart pounding in his ears…as could Sherlock, Victor, and Irene. Irene seemed to be getting restless despite the fact she had just fed, Victor was watching all three of them as though he were ready to pounce on anyone if they made a sudden move that he didn’t like, and Sherlock was holding onto John’s hand to try and keep him calm and not let anything happen to him. However, the other vampires in the house began to close in, some on the walls, others on the ceiling, and even some actually walking on the floor like normal people. This only caused John’s heart to pound harder and seem like it was vibrating off the walls.

            “Stop it,” Sherlock hissed, “Stop this now. Let us go, you have no use for us. I will never rejoin the coven and I will never return to you, Victor.”

            Victor’s brows raised in surprise and the hurt was clear in his eyes, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Moran walked through the door with Moriarty behind him, a very ornate ebony box in his hands. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on the box, but then he remembered what was in it.

            “Please don’t,” Sherlock pleaded, his voice soft and barely above a whisper, “Please…he’s done nothing wrong, please—“

            “Ah, so we’re begging now, are we?” Moriarty’s voice was like ice, and the moment the dark brown eyes locked onto John’s blue ones, he knew he was about to see the end of his life.

            “Come now, Jim,” said Irene as she sauntered over to the other man, “Don’t be so dramatic.”

            “I don’t think drama isn’t in his vocabulary,” John spat, surprising all of them since he hadn’t uttered a word.

            “John, please,” Sherlock murmured, “Be careful what you say—“

            “Yes, John, listen to Daddy. He knows what we’re capable of. Sebby, why don’t you show our little friends what we mean to do?”

            “No…”

            Both men watched in fear as the box was placed on the table before them, John not knowing what was in the box, but as the lid was lifted, he saw what was placed in the red velvet. Inside was a very beautifully crafted glass syringe filled with a silvery substance that looked to have a life of its own and a long silver dagger, and Moran lifted the dagger out of the box just as Sherlock was dragged away from John. The detective screamed and yelled as they pulled him back and John began to panic, but the worst had yet to come.

            “Shut him up,” Moriarty hissed and Victor tied a rag around Sherlock’s mouth, gagging him, “Now that there is no protest…Sebastian, please.”

            John’s eyes widened in horror as the other man approached him with the dagger and yet all he could think of was how much he loved Sherlock. He closed his eyes.

            Sherlock twisted in his bindings, but it was impossible to escape with Victor’s grip on him, especially with his sharp nails digging into his flesh. He watched as Moran began to contemplate horrible things to do to John, unable to decide on a blood eagle rite, slicing his stomach open so his insides spilled out, or even just slitting his throat to get it over with. Yet none of them seemed to satisfy him as the man walked a dangerous circle around Sherlock’s lover.

            “I-I haven’t done a-a-anything,” John stammered, fear now clear in his voice, “Please…”

            “Beg, Doctor Watson, beg,” Moran taunted and tapped the blade on John’s cheek, though it was only enough to leave a very small scratch, but no blood, “I think maybe we should just give Sherlock a little show, hm?”

            The detective’s eyes widened as far as they could possibly go, but there was nothing he could do; he was trapped.

            “Don’t…please…” John begged and stared into the dark eyes of the vampire before him, “I’m be—AAHHH!”

            Sherlock’s stomach plunged as Moran drove the blade into John’s stomach while crushing his left shoulder with his bare hand. As the blood spilled, each vampire covered his or her mouth and nose so they would not be tempted to end the human’s life, for he was meant for Sherlock.

            “Release him,” Moriarty commanded as Sherlock’s pupils dilated with bloodlust, “Let him drink his beloved.”

            Sherlock’s mouth was watering, his skin was white as snow, and his eyes were black as night as his fangs began to protrude. He was so thirsty and before him was a perfect meal—no, no that was _his_ John, the man he loved more than life itself. No, he would not drain him, nor would he turn him; it wasn’t what John wanted and it was not in Sherlock’s interest to do so. But Victor had yet to let him go, for he, too, was staring in shock at the amount of blood leaking from the human’s body and the incredible trembling that was building in the younger vampire’s body whom he held beneath his grasp.

            “We must leave,” Victor said harshly and released Sherlock though the man stayed locked in his seat, “If we don’t, we might all—“

            Suddenly, the vampires scattered the room as massive dogs bounded in, chasing them all as they hissed and screeched in their scramble to get away. If Sherlock would not have been locked on his lover, he would have realized that it was Lestrade and his pack of werewolves come to save them both; yeah, he would have been very useful in cases. Wonderful.

            At last the room was cleared except for Sherlock, John, and one wolf, Lestrade, and he had to break the vampire out of his trance so he would not end the life of the only man he had ever loved, especially when that man was his soulmate. Lestrade slowly walked towards Sherlock and stood between him and John, nudging the vampire to snap him out of it. John, however fading, was watching in disbelief as the wolf seemed to be talking to Sherlock. Fear was bubbling up inside him no matter how calm he tried to be since it was vital for his survival, and before he knew it, he could see Sherlock’s eyes and skin begin to change back to their normal hue.

            _Save him_ , Lestrade said, though his voice was through Sherlock’s head rather than spoken.

            “J…John…” Sherlock murmured and finally, he was back to his normal state of mind, “John!”

            The vampire jumped out of his seat and pushed the wolf aside as he frantically untied the man, careful of any and all injuries, and pressed a quick, tender kiss to his lips before scooping him into his arms. As they ran from the mansion, Sherlock could feel John fading, but luckily, Lestrade had called medics before his transformation and for that, both men would be eternally grateful. It wasn’t difficult to hang onto John as they climbed out onto the street, but it was when he was bleeding so much. Some of his blood even got onto Sherlock, but the vampire hardly noticed; he was only concerned with getting John to safety and getting him help as fast as he could.

            Finally the ambulance arrived and Sherlock was trying to get to them as fast as he could. The paramedics were working on him as best they could with what they had, though the ride seemed to take years. Sherlock never let go of John’s hand, not once, at least not until they forced them apart when he was taken back to the OR to try to save his life.

            Over and over the detective was begging him to not leave him, yet the words were never spoken. His heart was breaking and he was afraid to lose the man who would have never even been in this situation if he hadn’t been so attracted to him in the first place. This was all Sherlock’s fault…it always was….

As though Fate was laughing in his face, John began to fade out completely, everything turning black, and soon, even the sounds of the sirens were gone and the mortal was left in his own mind; a mind where Sherlock would never be able to physically place himself between his love and death.


	13. Chapter 13

**_ Chapter Thirteen _ **

 

**_Trauma Recovery Center – London_ **

**_Three weeks later_ **

****

            Blood, teeth, howling and hissing, and granite cracking were harsh images that played in John’s head before he woke up in…the hospital? He furrowed his brows and groaned slightly as the beeping of the machines and the dim lights in the room became clearer, but he couldn’t quite place the sweet scents in the room. Flowers, he could place, but the other scent…

            “Sherlock?” John murmured, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

            Sherlock suddenly straightened up and took John’s hand that didn’t have an IV connected to it, and he smiled brightly at the other man.

            “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear your voice again,” he said softly as he kissed John’s knuckles, “How are you feeling?”

            John finally let his eyes open just enough to be able to see Sherlock’s face clearly and his heart skipped a beat. However, when he tried to move to return the favor of a kiss, his stomach and shoulder protested with a crying pain that had him flat on his back once again and the vampire’s hands out for him to stabilize him.

            “Been better,” John said between clenched teeth, and he let out a slow breath before speaking again, “What…what happened, exactly?”

            The vampire bit his lip slightly and looked away for a brief moment, not wanting to tell him even though he knew he had to.

            “What do you remember?” Sherlock asked.

            “I remember being stabbed and my shoulder being broken, a wolf, and then hardly anything,” he answered truthfully, “I don’t remember being brought here.”

            The vampire nodded once and leaned over to kiss John’s cheek, “I tried…I tried to save you, I did. I wanted to get you out of there in one piece, but I almost lost you. You lost a lot of blood and they were afraid you would not make it. Um…when Moran stabbed you…I…um…”

            Shame dominated Sherlock’s features as well as sorrow and hurt, so he buried his face in his hands to try and hide it. John’s heart sank and he turned as best he could towards Sherlock to wrap his arms around him, his shoulder aching but he didn’t mind it at all if it meant he could hold him and comfort him. He rubbed his back as Sherlock scooted closer and wrapped his arms around the other man, placing kisses on his cheek, neck, and shoulder. Sherlock almost ruined this…he had almost lost the one thing in the entire world that ever mattered to him because he was foolish.

            “I love you,” John murmured and pulled back to rest their foreheads together, “I love you so, so much, Sherlock. Please don’t feel guilty about what had happened. Please…”

            “I love you, too,” Sherlock whispered, “but John, we shouldn’t have been able to get away this easily, you know this—“

            Before Sherlock could continue, John quickly cut him off with a tender kiss or two and held him close once more.

            “I know, but we don’t need to worry about it now,” he said, “We both need to rest and you, my love, you need to keep your mind occupied with more important things.”

            “Like what, John?”

            “Like us, for instance. Or your health and making sure you’re not thirsty all the time. I would offer my blood, but until I heal completely, I can’t.”

            “I know.”

            “Then you have to trust me. We’ll figure things out when the time comes and until then, I will stay with you and love you and kiss you and just be with you.”

            Sherlock smiled softly and kissed John once more as his fingers combed gingerly through his hair. So this was what happiness was? Sherlock could assume from this past year spent with John that he was truly happy for the first time in his life, and that was enough to make him never want to leave this world, especially without John.

            “I love you, John,” he murmured as their lips parted and his eyes, filled with love, met John’s beautiful blue ones.

            “I love you, too,” said John, “Now…when do I get out of here?”

            Sherlock chuckled a little and stroked John’s cheek affectionately as if he thought he was joking.

            “The doctors won’t release you until you’ve shown acceptable signs of improvements,” he answered, “Honestly, it may be about a week before I get to take you home, but luckily they let me stay with you.”

            John smiled, albeit sadly, and leaned forward again to kiss Sherlock’s lips tenderly. In truth, he was more than ready to go home, but he knew that Sherlock was right and the doctors would want to see substantial improvement before he would be discharged. Hopefully, that would be soon….

            “I want to go home…” he said quietly and held onto his lover tightly, “Let me go home…”

            “As much as I want to, I can’t do that,” said Sherlock as he held onto John, feeling the wetness of his tears on his shirt, “John…darling, I almost lost you. I will not risk it again. Now, why don’t you get some rest? Hm?”

            The soldier wiped his eyes with his gown and turned to lay back down, though he truly didn’t want to.

            “Stay with me?” he asked Sherlock as the other man turned off the lamp.

            “Of course,” he answered and kissed his cheek.

            As the room darkened other than the light of the machines and the light from the corridor through the window, Sherlock felt a heavy need to protect his lover. He quietly crawled into the bed beside him and was a little surprised that John did not argue with him, but rather curled into him and wrapped his arms tightly around him. The vampire only wished he could provide heat for the mortal man…

            It wasn’t long before John was snoring softly beside Sherlock, his chest rising and falling slowly as he slept so peacefully. Of course, Sherlock didn’t sleep a wink as he laid there with the other man and traced little circles on his shoulder, completely alert and ready to attack should someone come in that was far from welcome. He would be on edge for the next few weeks, maybe even years until Moriarty makes another move, but until then, John would rarely be out of his sight if at all for the doctor would need protection. Luckily the wolves under Moriarty’s control did not get a chance to bite John and change him into a werewolf, but Sherlock would rather have John be a werewolf than dead. Even then he didn’t know if their bloodbond would be severed or not since vampires detest the taste of werewolf blood more than anything.

            Sherlock shook his head to get the thoughts of losing John out of his head just as the sun began to rise, and he let out a slow sigh of relief. They made it through the night without a hitch, John’s vitals improved significantly, and Sherlock was able to sneak away to find some blood to fulfill his burning thirst. However, as he was stalking the halls, a doctor approached him and stopped him from going any further.

            “Can I help you, sir?” he asked, his voice stern to show authority.

            Sherlock stared at him and glanced back in the direction of John’s room.

            “My…my husband needed extra blankets and I was just looking for them,” he told him, lying right through his teeth.

            The doctor raised a brow and handed him a blanket from the rack right beside him.

            “There you go,” he said with a small smile and turned to leave, “If there’s anything you need, just call one of the nurses.”

            With that, the doctor left and Sherlock was standing there burning daggers into his back before he turned and went back to John’s room. He laid the blanket over him and tucked it around him, kissing his cheek, and he laid back in the bed with him, unsure what to do about his need for blood at the moment. All he could do was sit there and wish he could have a drink…a drink…yes… Sherlock shook his head again and pressed a gentle kiss to John’s forehead as they laid there, but it wasn’t long before the other man slowly opened his eyes and smiled at the sight of Sherlock lying beside him.

            “Good morning,” he mumbled sleepily and tightened his arms around him, “I’ve missed you. Did you sleep okay?”

            “Yeah,” Sherlock answered and kissed John’s temple, “What about you, my love?”

            “I slept great since you’ve been here.”

            Sherlock couldn’t help but smile, but again he felt incredibly guilty for John being in here even though he knew he couldn’t help it. He had tried to keep him safe and he had failed John incredibly so.

            “Sherlock?” said John when he noticed how the wheels of guilt were turning in Sherlock’s head.

            “Yes?” he answered and kissed the other man’s knuckles.

            “I know what you’re doing, and I need you to stop feeling so guilty. Please? For me?”

            Sherlock sighed. He hated when John did that.

            “For you,” he murmured and bent to kiss his lips, though when he tried to pull away too soon, John held him there and made sure he couldn’t move for another long moment.

            “I like kissing you,” said the man as a smile spread on his lips when the two parted, “but you look weary. Go get something to eat. I’ll be here when you get back. Besides, Lestrade is supposed to come by, isn’t he?”

            At the mention of the DI, Sherlock groaned and laid his head on John’s shoulder for he refused to move from his side until he knew nobody that intended to harm him would come into the room. Lestrade was safe, but John needed protection while he was a sitting duck. No, no Sherlock wouldn’t leave without him, that was ridiculous—

            “Sherlock?” John interrupted him again, “Stop overthinking and go get something to eat. I’ll be here when you come back, I promise you that, my love. Please?”

            The detective groaned and agreed with a swift kiss to John’s lips before he put on his coat and swept out the door, passing Lestrade as he did so. The scent Sherlock got from Lestrade told him he was still himself and smelled like dog, which was what he happened to be, so everything was alright and always would be. Right? Yes…yes of course…

 

 

**_221b Baker Street_ **

**_About a month later_ **

****

            Of course both men were on their toes the first few weeks that John was home, especially with him needing a little more help than usual since he was still a little weak, but Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about how odd it was for Moriarty to let them go so easily. He was pacing the flat while John napped in their bedroom, his hands folded in front of his face, and he was held back completely in his mind palace, thinking and thinking, not even noticing when Mrs. Hudson came up with a tray of biscuits and tea. There was something wrong and it was being repeated in his head over and over again, but he could think of nothing else besides the man he was in love with and what exactly they wanted from him. He knew they wanted to kill John, he knew that John’s fate should have been sealed that night and in turn resulted in Sherlock’s death, and he knew that if they were both dead, even in the afterlife there was a great chance he would not see John again no matter how much he asked.

            “John,” he breathed and sank in his chair, burrowing in his coat. They wanted him. They wanted them both. Dead.

            “Sherlock?”

            The sudden call for him from the bedroom had the vampire up on his feet and in the other room before John would be able to blink. John looked so much better than he did the day he woke up in the hospital, but of course Sherlock could tell he was still in a little bit of pain…and the scars… Sherlock would never look at them for long, he just couldn’t.

            “I’m here,” said Sherlock as he sat on the bed with John and took his hand, kissing his knuckles.

            “What’s got you all worked up?” he asked, though his voice was hoarse with sleep.

            Sherlock shrugged. “Just thinking. How are you feeling?”

            “Better, but I missed you.”

            Sherlock smiled a little and decided to climb into bed with John, holding the doctor close to his chest and rubbing his shoulder lazily.

            “Sherlock?”

            “Hm?”

            “I’ve been thinking about something, and I wanted your opinion on it.”

            The detective hummed in thought and made a snide comment that received a playful jab to the stomach.

            “I’m serious,” John said as he sat up to look Sherlock in the eyes and take his hands, “We’ve been together for over a year now and it seems we aren’t going to be able to be apart due to our bloodbond. I was thinking…well…what if we maybe…what if we got…papers?”

            “Papers? John, there’s plenty of papers around—“

            “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant what if we were…were to be m…married?”

            Sherlock stared at John for a long moment, the words trying to register properly in his mind and make sure he had heard the man correctly.

            “You…you want to marry _me_?” he asked, almost laughing at the idea of someone wanting to spend the rest of their life with him, but the seriousness that read clear on John’s face told him that this was absolutely no laughing matter.

            “Yes, Sherlock. I want to marry you. But on one condition.”

            Sherlock’s brows shot up. “What condition?”

            John took a deep breath and adjusted so he was straddling Sherlock’s hips to make sure he couldn’t run from him or avoid him. God he was nervous. He had been holding back asking it for the longest time out of fear that Sherlock would outright object or even laugh at him….

“The condition that we truly do spend the rest of our lives together. I wish to marry you and in turn become a vampire like yourself—“

            “No, no absolutely not—“

            “Sherlock—“

            “No! John, I will not watch you go through that pain.”

            “Sherlock, I can’t ask you to watch me die.”

            The detective was silenced then and he was, for once, at a loss for words, so John quickly spoke up again, “Every single day I get older. One day, we won’t be able to make love anymore. One day you won’t be able to drink from me anymore. One day…one day you’ll have to put me in the ground—“

            “And I’ll be right there beside you—“

            “No, Sherlock. You said it yourself that even though you don’t believe in an afterlife, if there is one, we might never see each other again. Darling, I can’t lose you, I just can’t. Please don’t make me.”

            Sherlock bit his lip and hesitantly reached up to rest his hand on John’s chest over his heart. He could feel the doctor’s pulse beneath his fingertips and the thought of his heart stopping was unbearable.

            “John…” he whispered and took in a deep, shaky breath, “The pain that comes with the change is indescribable, but the best way _to_ describe it is like being burned alive by ice. It’s incredible pain, John, and I don’t want to put you through it. Please do not ask me to do that to you....”

            John frowned and cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands before he bent to kiss his lips sweetly, running his fingers through his beautiful curls as he tried to relax him.

            “I’m willing to take that risk for you, darling,” he murmured and kissed him again as they moved to cuddle against the headboard together, “The pain of the change is nothing to living a life without you. I don’t want to grow old without you and possibly forget who you are in my old age. I’m nearing fifty as it is—“

            “You’ve still got a good fifteen years—“

            “That’s not the point, Sherlock. The point is, I get older every single day while you remain young. I don’t want to give up our sickening domestic life, nor do I want to give up our sex life because that would be miserable for both of us.”

            Sherlock chuckled softly and laid his head on top of John’s as they laced their fingers together, just being completely comfortable with one another. He was right, the moment John died Sherlock would come home and end his own life so he wouldn’t have to live without John. But to live a hundred years more with John…that was like a dream.

            “I just don’t want to hear your heart stop…” he whispered and buried his face in John’s neck after a moment, “That is one of the most beautiful things about you, John Watson.”

            John sighed softly and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head, and said, “I know you don’t, but I can’t be the cause of your death. You’re an incredible asset to this world and Scotland Yard needs you. I need you.”

            “And I need you, but not writhing in pain.”

            John sighed again, but he didn’t say another word. He didn’t know if he would be able to convince Sherlock to change him, but something was telling him the vampire had considered it at least once before; maybe when he almost died after they were attacked…maybe, he didn’t know, but it would be a good time to consider immortality. That’s when John had considered it, anyway.

            “After our honeymoon,” Sherlock said suddenly, “That’s the only time I will agree to make you mine forever, and not just figuratively.”

            John’s heart skipped a beat.

            “R-really? You’ll really change me?”

            Sherlock nodded and laid his head on John’s bare chest, not wanting to let go of his heart just yet. “I will change you only so I can keep you to myself for hundreds and hundreds of years. I’m in love with you, John Hamish Watson, and I intend to love you until the end of time.”

            John blushed and tilted Sherlock’s chin up to kiss his lips and kiss them passionately, his heart skipping a couple beats as he let himself fall into everything that was Sherlock Holmes.

            “I love you,” he murmured and felt the larger hands tangle in his hair and rest on his back.

            “I love you more,” the detective purred and began to kiss down John’s chest, and the night was subsequently filled with moans, sweat, declaration of love, and both men becoming more religious than they realized. Sherlock was going to have his blogger for the rest of his life and John was going to live forever with his detective. That was enough for the both of them.


	14. Epilogue

**_ Epilogue _ **

**_Underground London_ **

**_Several months later…_ **

****

            The manor had been void of talk of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson for quite some time now and the clan continued to move on with their day-to-day lives. New vampires were bred very carefully, werewolves under their control were bred with more care than the vampires, and messengers would come in every other day with news of potential victims or recruits. However, that particular day, the manor was seemingly empty but buzzing with tension as one of the messengers walked hastily down the hall towards Mr. Moriarty’s study with a silver tray in her hands, a single envelope placed on it with a small spatter of blood on the corner.

            As she approached the door, the young, very beautiful vampire held herself straighter and her chin higher before knocking on the door. She was not nervous for herself, but she was nervous for the contents of the envelope for Mr. Moriarty’s sake.

            “Yes, come in, pet,” called a smooth voice from the other side of the wood and she entered with a careful sway of her hips.

            “A letter for you, sir,” she said, “An invitation.”

            Moriarty turned around in his seat and peered up at her before he took the letter from the tray. He sniffed it carefully and tasted the bit of blood on the corner, smirking.

            “Thank you, you may go,” he told her and waited until she left the room before he sliced the envelope open with a sharp fingernail. Inside was an intricate invitation to a wedding, one that he had foreseen for many months now.

            “What is it?” Victor asked from across the room as he stood up from the game of chess he and Moran were playing.

            Jim looked up at the tall man and smirked before he handed him the invitation.

            “We have been cordially invited to attend the wedding of Dr. John Hamish Watson and Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

            The room fell silent as Victor stared at the piece of parchment in his hands; if only his eyes could burn through paper. Irene sauntered in then and peered over Victor’s shoulder at the invitation, and a moment later, a smirk pulled up her ruby lips.

            “I have the perfect dress,” she said, her voice as smooth as ice, “Shall we make our reservations? Everybody have their plus-ones?”

            Victor’s eyes shot to her and bore into her green ones, making her shy away for once. He looked up at Jim and handed the invitation back to him before adjusting his waistcoat and buttoning his blazer. Moran got to his feet and walked over to stand beside Victor as they both watched the wheels turn in Jim’s head before they clicked and locked in place. A devilish, menacing smirk turned up the vampire’s lips and his fangs protruded viciously as his eyes turned red.

            “I believe we have a wedding to go to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading this! Sorry it ended up being so short, but I will be writing more and am actually working on a few fanfictions right now :D Any suggestions, please feel free to let me know! :) Thank you again! <3


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